Nom de Guerre
by cantfindmypants
Summary: After receiving word of her brother's death at the hands of His Majesty's army, Tabitha McKenna is left with nothing. Desperate not to lose her family's farm, but unwilling to marry in order to keep it, she joins the Continental Army under her brother's name. Side-fic to alyssapiercearrow's By Land or By Sea.
1. Bloodstains

Important note: This story is a side-piece to AlyssaPierceArrow's story By Land or By Sea, and later chapters probably won't make much sense if you haven't read that one as well. (Don't worry; hers is amazing, and well worth your time to read!) That being said, I'm no expert on colonial anything, especially military etiquette and protocol. So if you see any glaring inaccuracies in here, please let me know so I can fix them! Concrit is greatly appreciated. And, as always, thank you for reading!

* * *

_My Dearest Tabitha,_

_It is my hope that this letter finds you in good health and high hopes. As I write this, our regiment has been surrounded, and there is talk of surrender from our captain and many of the men. I am of the belief that should the order be given, he would be more than happy to remove his breeches and wave them in surrender. Unfortunately, his cowardice during the last round of cannon fire has seen them permanently stained brown! God be with him should he ask to utilize mine instead._

_I am writing to you in this late hour, dear sister, because whether we receive orders to surrender or orders for our retreat, it can only end in my death. Should we surrender, all non-officers will likely be sent to the gallows. However, if retreat is sounded, my orders are to stay behind and guard the rear._

_If you are reading this letter, then I regret to inform you that I have gone to meet our Father and His heavenly host. My sweet sister, I have many regrets, most notably the fact that I will be leaving you alone to fend for yourself. I would not have any hardship befall you, but I fear I have little say in the matter. It is for this reason amongst others that I beg you in my final moments to reconcile with Captain Benjamin Tallmadge. I understand your distaste for the man, but I feel certain that he can protect you. I fear for your safety, Tabby, and would rest peacefully knowing you had a man of his caliber at your side._

_My love, my dearest friend, you have been a sweetness most can ill afford in this life. Know I march to my death with my head held high, a prayer on my lips and your smile in my heart. Pray for us, Tabby. Pray for General Washington. Pray for our freedom. Pray for our men._

_I will watch over you always._

_Aaron_

* * *

Tabitha carefully laid the letter on the table in front of her, as though too harsh a touch could cause it to crumble. "You're certain of this?"

"Yes," the priest seated across from her replied somberly. "My deepest condolences." Tabitha's hands fisted in the fabric of her gown as she willed herself not to tremble. "I understand this is a difficult time for you," he continued, but stopped abruptly at the glare he received.

"Do you, Father?" Tabitha replied icily. "Do you understand what Aaron was to me?" She didn't wait for him to respond, and continued, "I have been put in a very difficult position. You know what will happen as soon as Eric Jennings discovers what has happened. He's had his eye on this house since our father passed away, and now that Aaron has gone, and I have no husband to speak of…"

"What about Benjamin Tallmadge?" Michael asked curiously. "Surely if you told him the situation—"

With flurry of skirts and petticoats, Tabitha rose to her feet, rage burning in her teary eyes. "I would sooner abase myself and crawl on my belly like a worm than appeal to the sympathies of Benjamin Tallmadge!" she spat, his name practically a curse in her mouth.

"I don't see you have much choice, Tabitha," Michael retorted, plucking Aaron's letter from the table and glancing through the hasty scrawl and bloodstains. "They are your brother's final words, after all."

"Do not assume that disregarding my brother's advice in the way of my romantic prospects reflects in the slightest on my opinion of him," Tabitha retorted sharply. "Aaron was an intelligent and respectable man, whose words I held in the highest esteem."

Michael's face coloured slightly, and he glanced back at the letter in his hands. "I meant no disrespect," he said. "Aaron was as dear to me as he is to you. Only, I cannot see any other options available to a woman in your position. Let me speak," he added, as Tabitha made to interrupt again. "I understand your… ah… liberal views when it comes to women. And I for one can accept the possibility that a woman would be every bit as capable as her husband in matters of finance and learning. But I come from a family of eight sisters, Tabitha, and though the world may one day change in your favor, I do not see it happening in your lifetime. The only way for you to keep this house and your livestock is to marry."

Tears threatened to fall from Tabitha's eyes as she sank back into her chair. "I have no desire to marry, Father," she said weakly.

"Then your brother's estate will be divided amongst your neighbors," Michael said simply. "The deed is in your father's name, and he was very specific in willing it to Aaron."

Thoughts spiraled through Tabitha's mind. Images of Aaron—Aaron smiling, Aaron shouting. Aaron's voice. Light, musical, lilting, yet somber in voicing his farewell. He had been an educated man—no proper schooling to speak of, but as well-versed as any college boy. Self-taught in nearly everything, and always willing to pass his knowledge to his twin sister. He had taught her nearly everything, from penmanship to marksmanship, and sewing to brawling.

"What if Aaron wasn't dead?" she asked softly.

"There is no question," Michael replied somewhat irritably. "Your brother is dead. It says so in his letter."

Tabitha shook her head. "Have you seen his body, then?" she asked. "Can you tell me for a fact that the blood on this paper is indeed his?"

"Well, of course not," he admitted.

"Then if I were to find him alive, his estates would be secured?"

Michael sighed. "Yes, that would be correct. But it cannot happen. Your brother is dead."

"If I find him," Tabitha continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I should obviously wish to remain at his side for an extended amount of time. I could request that his earnings be sent directly to you, as proof that he still lives and for safekeeping until I return home."

Michael slowly got to his feet, placing the letter back on the table between them. "Very well," he agreed. "And in the event that you find proof of his death?"

"Then I shall seek out Captain Tallmadge, and attempt to win back his favor."

The priest seemed satisfied by this, and grasped her hands. "May God grant you a safe journey, my child."

"Thank you, Father."

Michael rose to his feet and, after a final pained glance at the letter on the table, locked his eyes to Tabitha's. "Be careful, won't you?" he said. "I can't lose both of you."

Tabitha stubbornly refused to acknowledge the tears brimming in her eyes. "I promise," she said, voice a bit shakier than she'd intended. She cleared her throat with a small cough, and tried again. "I will be safe, Father. You needn't worry about me."

His smile was slow, but sincere, even if it didn't quite touch his eyes. "I'll show myself out, then."

Tabitha found her face mirroring his as Sara held the door open. "I enjoy your company, Father. Do visit me again."

"We'll speak more on your return." Sara closed the door behind him, then glanced back at the dark-haired woman seated in the parlor.

"Pardon me if I'm speaking out of turn, mum, but you have no intention of winning the favor of Mr. Tallmadge, do you?"

Tabitha smiled wryly. "Are you suggesting I would lie to my parish priest, Sara?"

Sara clapped a hand to her mouth and shook her head. "That's not what I—"

"Hush, girl," Tabitha sighed, rising to her feet once again. "I will win his favor, but not in the way I implied to Father Michael. Go and fetch some shears and meet me in my dressing room. I have a journey to prepare for, and my hair is much too long."


	2. Five Graves

_Dearest Father Michael,_

_As you certainly will have heard by now, I have arrived in Connecticut safely with my escort from Baltimore. I was greeted by a company of Dragoons, and am overjoyed to announce that my sweet brother was amongst them! I thank God daily for delivering him safely back to me against all odds. You may not have heard what became of him after the attack. He was indeed captured, interrogated most horrifically, and sent to the gallows with the remainder of his regiment. Many men were already swinging from the rope when they brought him from his cell._

_Good sir, I fear I may swoon simply by recalling this dreadful tale!_

_However, my clever and most resourceful brother managed to fashion a knife of glass and twine, and concealed it on his person before being escorted to the gallows. Using said blade, he was able to cut through the ropes binding his hands, and at the last possible second, disarmed the guard and obtained his pistol!_

_Such a glorious tale, Father! One I beg you remind me to recall in full when next I see you. I shall be most embarrassed if I fail to provide all of Maryland with the heroic account of my dear brother. But what I will share with you now is the good news that my brother has been promoted to second lieutenant in light of his heroism! You will also be pleased to know that he has been assigned to the Connecticut Dragoons, under the command of General Scott and Captain Tallmadge!_

_That being said, Father, I shall remain with the men for an extended period, as I mentioned previously. I am overjoyed and, henceforth, loathe to leave my dear brother's side. But in light of recent events, I shall also endeavor to return myself to the good graces of Captain Tallmadge. As agreed upon, a portion of Aaron's earnings will be sent to you as not only proof of my grand tales, but also for safekeeping. I trust his finances are in good hands._

_I miss you dreadfully, and cannot wait to return home._

_Yours most faithfully,_

_Tabitha_

* * *

To be honest, Tabitha had expected a bit more from the Connecticut Dragoons. Some form of discipline, structure, or a shred of respectability. Instead, upon arrival with the escort, she was greeted by General Scott with a musket ball in his leg, a dead farmer, two dead soldiers, two more bound in the yard, a crying woman, and a very smug-looking Redcoat with a battered face.

"This looks promising," she muttered, dismounting her horse, and tossing her braided hair over her shoulder. "What the hell happened here?"

The man next to her shrugged. "Mutiny, it seems," he growled. "Been lotsa rumors concernin' General Washington. They been sayin' he's dead."

Tabitha snorted derisively. "Great to see the true mettle of the Continental Army," she said. "Washington should fake his death every month so we can weed out the opportunists. At least we know where this lot stands."

The man regarded her with a smirk. "You're a feisty little bugger, ain't ya, boy?"

"That's 'sub-lieutenant'," Tabitha corrected, dark brows furrowed slightly. "And better we find their true standing now than fifty miles from here with their knives in our backs, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wasn't Captain Tallmadge supposed to be here?" she continued. "I don't see him."

The man glanced around briefly. "He ain't the only one missin," he said finally. "Lieutenant Brewster ain't here neither."

Tabitha clicked her tongue as she led her horse toward the ragtag group ahead. "See General Scott for your orders, corporal. Then I want you to help clean up this lot." She nodded in the direction of the two dead mutineers. "Dismissed."

"Hey!" Tabby looked up from her horse as General Scott walked towards them.

"Wait a moment, corporal. General Scott!" she said in greeting as the man approached. "What happened here?"

General Scott didn't seem to be in a conversational mood, however, and spoke as though he hadn't heard Tabitha. "What's your name, soldier?"

Tabitha arched an eyebrow. "Sub-lieutenant Aaron McKenna, sir, of the 4th Regiment Dragoons," she answered. "And this is Corporal James St. Clair. What happened, sir?"

Scott gave an offhanded wave of his hand in the direction of the two men bound in the yard. "Nothing we couldn't handle," he said. "What news of Washington?"

"He sends warm regards," Tabitha said with a half-smile. "The General is unscathed. We have regrouped across the Delaware, and you are to report as soon as you're able."

She inclined her head towards the two prisoners. "What's to be done with them, sir?"

"Hm?" Scott seemed to have forgotten they were there. "Oh, we'll take them with us. They shall face trial and be hanged. Now have your men assist with digging. I plan to be on the road before midday, and don't want any more hold-ups."

Tabitha unconsciously stood up a bit straighter. "Yes, sir. I'll assign my men to a detail. And… sir? If I may speak frankly?"

General Scott nodded curtly. "Make it fast, Lieutenant."

"We are hard-pressed for time. In a situation that required further investigation, perhaps a trial would be prudent." Her face hardened as she caught Newt's eye. "But we know what these worms are. Cowards, both, and there's nothing more to be done by a trial."

There was a brief moment of silence, then General Scott nodded. "I agree. Thank you, Lieutenant. Carry on."

"Yes, sir. Come on, you lot!" she called to the group. "We've got work to do!"

There was movement from the doorway, and Tabitha felt her heart still as Ben emerged from the house, arms laden with blood-soaked cloth. "What's happening here?" he asked.

"Orders from Washington, Captain," she said gruffly.

"He's escaped, then?" The relief in Ben's voice was evident, and Tabitha frowned.

"You sound surprised," she commented. "With your leave, sir, my men and I have work to do."

Ben's attention was suddenly focused elsewhere. "How many graves are you digging?"

"Five, sir."

"Five," Ben echoed, face darkening slightly.

A sudden wave disappointment washed over Tabitha as Ben strode past her, and she knew in that second that Ben had left the boys alive on purpose. 'You idiot,' she thought wryly. One look at the corpse at her feet told her all she needed to know. Ben was still a damn good shot from any range, but was still hesitating.

"Hope you're happy."

A gunshot echoed behind her, and she shook her head. He'd have to desensitize himself eventually, she reasoned. General Scott seemed to be of the same opinion, however, as he passed the pistol to Ben. As her shovel cut through the soil, Tabitha caught the briefest snippets of their conversation, until the wind shifted.

"I'll take the court-martial, sir."

Tabitha's hands stilled as the second gunshot rang out, and she risked a glance over her shoulder. Ben was pale and stricken, and for a moment, looked as though he might vomit. Tabitha felt a similar queasiness, though for a different reason, and it took every last ounce of self-control she had not to clobber Ben with her shovel.

He was willing to risk court-martial to save a boy who had fired on his superior officers. He was willing to risk court-martial. Did the Continental Army mean nothing to him? There was not a single moment in Tabitha's life where she could recall feeling more pride than the day Aaron's sub-lieutenant epaulette was fastened to her uniform coat. The proud thrumming of blood in her veins as her heart pounded with renewed fervor at the thought of having such a role in the fight for freedom. And this… brat… was willing to throw it all away for the sake of 'his word'?

"You would be singing a different tune if you'd fought to be here, Tallmadge," she growled softly. And for the longest time, the only thing she could hear over the sound of her shovel was the blood pounding in her ears.


	3. Tá Brón Orm

_My Dear Sir,_

_I beg you to forgive my untimely response to your previous letter. Know that I have cherished your kind words in these difficult times, and you have been foremost in my prayers._

_This noble war goes on, much as it has for the past year. There is no end in sight, but we keep our faith and know that God protects us and our most righteous cause. I fear I cannot say much, as our movements must be kept under wraps, as it were. However, my sister tells me you were most int'rested in the story of my escape, when by all accounts, I should have been dead._

_Should I live a hundred years, I will never forget it. The smell of death in the air, the unnatural darkness of the cell, and the screams piercing the night—they will remain a part of me 'til the day I die. I had given up hope since sealing what was to be my final letter to Tabitha, and what filled me could only be described as resolution. If I was to die, then surely there was no better time or place!_

_But death was not to be mine that day._

_We were all of us chained in cells—the very cells we'd once held redcoat prisoners in not two hours prior. I often imagined you commenting on the irony, and I admit it brought a smile to my face many a time. When the British came, they selected six to ten of us at random. I knew why they had come, and made it clear that under no terms would I be intimidated in the face of death. A few of the younger lads—some barely upwards of twelve years, Father—seemed eager to accompany them. Poor lads must have thought there would be a trial or some other opportunity waiting for them. I could hear several of them scream on their way to the gallows. God rest their souls._

_Now, to speak of the jailer. I have little to say about him, in neither a positive nor critical light. He was a thick man, but seemed kind at heart. I came to this conclusion by making note of the amount of ale he consumed after he heard the first cry of terror when the younger lads realized they were about to die. And the increasing amount every time the guards came back to the cell to remove more of us. Clearly he was not a drunk, however, because I have seen Bary O'Brien consume thrice the amount and still loose an arrow through a deer's eye._

_By the time the guards returned for the last of us, I had devised a plan. It was as though the Almighty Himself had laid out the pieces for me, and all I had to do was utilize them. A simple shard of glass wrapped with hay and twine became my dagger, and I sank it deep into the jailer's throat without hesitation. I retrieved his sword and pistol, along with his keys. Never will I understand why the man with the keys sits posted directly outside the door._

_The Continental Army, in light of this perceived heroism, has promoted me to the rank of Sub-lieutenant. Under normal circumstances, I would be honored beyond belief, pride be damned! But in a situation such as this, all I can think of are the others who did not find their way out of that living Hell. Pray for them, Father. And please pray that my leadership honors their name._

_Regrettably, I must bring this letter to a close. The noble war goes on, after all. I shall write again soon as I am able, and I eagerly await your reply._

_I remain yours most sincerely,_

_Aaron McKenna_

* * *

A particularly strong gust of wind wove its way through the treeline, scattering the long-dead leaves carpeting the forest floor. In that brief moment, Tabitha found herself missing the warm locks of hair she had chopped off weeks before. At less than a third its original length, the hair tied at the nape of her neck did nothing to shield her from the early winter chill.

But as soon as the thought entered her mind, it passed, and she fixed her eyes on the target in front of her. Rabbits this size were scarce so close to winter and in the army, fresh meat in general was a rarer find. Silently, she nocked an arrow, raising the bow as she drew the fletching back to her ear. She hesitated for barely a second to take aim, and with a slow exhale, loosed the arrow.

It struck true, and the rabbit slumped dead in a pool of its own blood. Tabitha slung the bow over her shoulder, and felt her mouth twitch into an unbidden smile. Two perfect shots that day, and enough meat to supplement her rations for a week.

Aaron would have been proud.

The smile dropped from her lips as quickly as it had come. She wrapped a length of twine around the rabbit's hind legs, and swung the carcass over her shoulder to join its brother. Another gust of wind shook the pines, and Tabitha drew her coat tighter around her body. There would almost certainly be fires burning already—General Scott liked everything to be prepared long before nightfall—but for the moment, Tabitha was content to remain in the forest. With a sigh, and with the treeline still in sight, she slumped against a rather thick oak in hopes it would serve as a barrier of sorts between her and the wind.

She pulled a knife from her boot and began cutting a small ring around the leg of the first rabbit. Skinning an animal came as naturally to her as eating one, but her progress was hindered by the chill settling in her fingertips. There was no doubt in her mind that she could have done a cleaner job next to one of the fires, but masquerading as Aaron was beginning to take its toll.

The physical demands of a soldier were no different than her days on the farm with Aaron. Vainly attempting to lead a horse through mud and muck, a bone-deep chill when the fire wasn't enough to stave off the midnight frost, and the gnawing hunger in the pit of her belly when food was scarce. All things she'd experienced throughout her childhood after their father's untimely death.

No, the physical demands were nothing she couldn't handle. But try as she might, Tabitha couldn't help feeling a dull knot of pain twisting in her gut every time Aaron's name was mentioned. And worse still, the briefest flutter of hope in her heart that he had by some miracle wandered into the encampment—wounded, maybe, but alive. And then she would hear his name repeated—_her_ name, she would remember—and the hope was gone. Dashed into so many pieces, just like the teacup she'd been holding when his final bloodstained letter arrived.

"_Tá brón orm_," she whispered into the fading light, willing her tears not to fall as she ripped the hide from the cottontail.

"Sorry for what?" came a thickly accented voice, far too close for comfort. Tabitha's hand immediately curled around her knife as she leapt to her feet, but found her arm twisted behind her back before she could throw it. "Arrows, eh?" the man continued. "Don' see too many lads with those in the dragoons. Most of 'em use pistols."

Tabitha refused to give the man the pleasure of seeing her struggle. "So ya don't," she snapped, voice thickening in anger. "But I'm no' _most lads_. Now, d'ya mind lettin' go of me arm, or do I need to cut yer hand off?"

Caleb stepped back, smirking. "Irish, are ya then?" he asked as he released her arm. "What's your name?"

"Lieutenant Aaron McKenna," she spat vehemently, forcing her voice into a more level cadence. "Fourth Regiment Dragoons. Now who the fuck are you?"

"You don' look like Fourth Regiment," Caleb noted bluntly. "Or a lieutenant."

"I've been reassigned to the Second. Now, _who_," Tabitha repeated, louder this time. "The _**fuck**_. Are you?"

Caleb smirked. "First Lieutenant Caleb Brewster, at your service," he said with a mock bow. "And if you're the Aaron McKenna I've heard about, then that's not a proper way to address your superiors, _Second_ Lieutenant." Tabitha felt her cheeks burn as she bit back the sharp retort dancing on the tip of her tongue. "So." With a twist of his wrist, Caleb wrenched the feathered shaft from the unskinned cottontail carcass. "Arrows?"

"Conserving ammunition," Tabitha replied stiffly.

"That bad with a rifle, are ya?"

"_No,_" she snapped. "Just hungry. I didn't want the shot scaring off everything else in this bloody forest."

Caleb nudged the rabbit with the toe of his boot. "You can finish skinning these at camp," he said, before setting off towards the treeline. "You took yer damn time out here. And with all the British patrols 'round these parts, d'ya know what that'll look like to General Scott?" Tabitha's eyes widened a fraction, as she slung the rabbits over her shoulder once more.

"It's nothing like that," she replied lowly, trudging along after him. "Just had some things on my mind, is all."

"Wrong answer," Caleb interjected, turning on heel and pressing his finger into Tabitha's sternum. "I get it. Ya need some time away from those little shites who're callin' themselves soldiers. They piss me off too; all the talk about how many lobsterbacks they've killed when they haven't fired so much as three shots between the whole damn lot of 'em." Tabitha met his gaze almost defiantly as he spoke, but did so in silence. "But ya don't say that to anyone. Hell, any of us sayin' we need time to think, alone in the woods where no one will see us… That's gonna get you noticed in all the wrong ways."

Tabitha pushed Caleb's finger away from the spot she was certain would carry a bruise for the next few days, and crossed her arms. "Then what_is_the right answer, _First Lieutenant_?" she asked. "What's my grand story for why I was in the woods for so long?"

Caleb snorted. "I dunno, say ya had the shits or somethin'," he said with a shrug.

Tabitha's mouth hung open slightly as Caleb continued towards the camp, and after a moment of stunned silence, she jogged to catch up with him. "Wait, you treated me to all that drivel just so you could tell me to lie and say I had the shits?" she exclaimed, snatching her arrow from his hand. "How the hell did a nocky boy like you ever get to be a First Lieutenant?!"

"By noticin' the little things," he retorted, grabbing the arrow back from her. "Like how the pretty-boy Second Lieutenant is more pretty than boy, if ya get me."

For a second, Tabitha could have sworn she felt her heart stop, and the wind felt even colder as Caleb walked past her again. "I…" she stuttered, "I don't know what you're talking about!" she called to his retreating form.

"Oh, I think ya do," Caleb replied, and Tabitha could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "I knew something was off 'bout ya sittin all alone in the cold wit yer rabbits. Can't say any of those boys would risk lingerin' out here because they had 'somethin on their mind'."

Tabitha tightened her grip on the rabbits. "If you must know, _Lieutenant_, I recently received word that my brother is dead." The slight tremor in her voice couldn't be concealed. "I don't see how my mourning in private leads you to assume I'm a woman."

Caleb's grin widened. "It doesn't," he replied simply. "But your chest does." When Tabitha didn't reply, he continued, "You cover up well, but d'ya think I don' know tits when I see 'em?" His grin dropped abruptly, and he glanced sidelong at her. "Got any idea what those lobsters will do with a dainty lil thing like you if they find out what you are? There're a lot more ways to hurt a woman than a man."

"Actually, no." Tabitha had suddenly found her voice, and with it came a rush of anger. "There aren't. Is there something they can do to me that cannot be done to you? Can we not both be beaten? Hanged? Shot? Is your skin somehow resistant to fire, while mine isn't? Women aren't the only ones who can be raped, you know. But you needn't worry. Fortunately for you, rape is only a _truly_ deplorable act when it's done to a man."

By the end of her tirade, Tabitha's voice had rose significantly, as had the color in her cheeks. Her knuckles were white, and she felt her fingernails cutting into the flesh of one of the rabbits. She ran a shaky hand across her face, leaving behind a smudge of grime and blood. "Tell me, Lieutenant Brewster," she said after a few gulps of air, "can you name a single feature of mine that could be described as 'dainty'?"

Caleb's expression could only be described as conflicted. Torn between insulted, indignant, concerned and—maybe—a bit entertained. "Not a damn thing," he answered finally, and took a slow step closer to her. "Listen carefully, 'cause I'm not gonna tell ya this twice. I'm going to be watching you. If you're half as good with a pistol as ya are with those arrows, then that'll make ya better than most of the idiots we have out there. But I don't need an untrained and inexperienced girl running around camp with a gun, so until I say you're ready, you're to stick with me."

"And if I don't?" Tabitha asked defiantly.

Caleb let out a short bark of a laugh. "You _really_ aren't in a position to compromise."

Tabitha finally smiled—a slight upturn at one corner of her mouth. "Fair enough," she said.


	4. Assurances

_Caleb,_

_Please know first and foremost that my last report from York City was not a mere stroke of luck. I am confident that information of the same quality can be obtained, but with a slight change in methods. After your dramatic escape in the stolen boat, paranoia has set in amongst the troops stationed here. Also, following a dispute with my father, if I wish to travel outside Setauket, I will need to furnish a more solid explanation. My whereabouts now seem to be of genuine interest to him, and his hostilities against our mutual friend have made it difficult for me to have my laundry hung._

_It is for this very reason, and in an attempt to gain further information and with hopes that she may have eyes and ears where I do not, that I would like you to consider the inclusion of a new agent to our cause. If you have not been previously informed, then allow me to be the first to tell you that trouble has arrived from the south. Many years have passed since we last saw its ilk, and upon its arrival, I expect an influx in liquor theft within the next few weeks._

_For the time being, the signal shall remain the same, and I pray you will keep an open mind. We have been afforded a rare opportunity—one I believe will prove invaluable to us in the long run. Do not be so quick to judge, as I hear you were towards certain lady folk whilst I was away. I can speak on her behalf, but I see no need to do so. Likely, she will be more than willing to do so herself._

* * *

Night was quickly gathering on the horizon by the time Caleb and Tabitha returned to camp. While not dark enough to truly impede her vision, the shadows had lengthened considerably, and the chill in the air was infinitely more pronounced. Despite her best attempts to suppress it, Tabitha felt shivers gathering in her chest, threatening to wrack her limbs at any moment unless she could find a decent-sized fire to warm herself.

As they passed the first row of tents, her outwardly calm façade hadn't faded, but had it not been for the clamor of soldiers bustling about the encampment, she was almost sure the frantic pounding of her heart would have given her away. Caleb was going to turn her in. There was no question in her mind about it. The only question was how the situation could be prevented. Ideas ran through her head, mostly consisting of either drowning Caleb in a barrel of ale or making her escape before he could report to General Scott.

And both were completely out of the question. With the temperatures steadily dropping and the promise of snow in the air, running through unfamiliar terrain in the dark without proper provisions would prove deadly. As would being accused of the murder of a superior officer, provided she could manage to hold him down long enough to get in a killing blow. But there was no way a man like Caleb would go down quietly.

"You can calm the hell down, molly," Caleb said finally, and Tabitha simply glared. "I'm not gonna rat you out, if that's what yer thinkin'."

"And why should I believe that?" she hissed sharply. "Pardon me for making assumptions, but you don't really look the type to accept a woman as a fellow officer in the Continental Army."

Caleb shook his head. "Well, as long as you're here, might as well make the best of it."

Realization dawned on Tabitha as his words sank in. "You're blackmailing me, then, is that it?" she exclaimed. "I do what you say, or else you blab to General Scott?"

"I wouldn't call it blackmail," Caleb replied cheekily. "More like insurance. I wanna know that I can count on you in a tight spot, and this lil' bit of knowledge assures me just that."

Color rose in Tabitha's cheeks, and she felt her jaw clenching in anger. Father Michael had always said she was bound to crack her teeth if she kept it up, but at this point, she didn't care. All she could think of was her overwhelming need to even the playing field. Lying low had been difficult, and the constant fear of arousing suspicion was more stress than she ever anticipated. And adding to it now with the obligation to be Caleb Brewster's indentured servant was more than she felt she could handle. "So what is it you need me to do?" she asked.

Before Caleb could answer, however, there was an irate shout from behind them. "Lieutenant!" Tabitha felt her heart leap into her throat as she whipped around, only to be practically bowled over by General Scott as he strode purposefully towards Caleb. "Where the hell have you been?"

Pulse still pounding in her neck, Tabitha couldn't help noticing the way Caleb had automatically adjusted his shirt upon hearing the General's voice. With that realization came a sudden wave of nostalgia as she remembered always getting caught by Sister Bridget for doing similar things after hiding sweets in her pockets. Years later, the nun had revealed it to be Tabitha's own guilty movements that gave her away every time.

'_Wait a minute,_' she thought, and felt a whole new world of opportunity opening up in front of her as she realized Caleb was hiding something. General Scott rounded on them, and it was in that moment that Caleb shifted his weight, and Tabitha caught the slightest glimpse of the corner of paper sticking out from the waistband of his pants. Without even pausing to think, she immediately slid her foot into Caleb's path as he took a step backwards. "Hey!" she shouted as they collided, effectively startling him as she yanked her leg back and nearly sent them both toppling to the ground. "Watch it!"

"Don't stand so damn close, then," Caleb shot back, giving her a shove in the shoulder for good measure. "What can I do for ya, General?"

Tabitha made a show about picking herself up off the ground and dusting off the soiled knees of her trousers, and stole a quick glance at the paper clutched rather unceremoniously in her hand. A devilish grin spread across her face like wildfire as she realized what it was and she quickly straightened up to stand beside Caleb.

"…gone for over three days without permission, and against my direct orders!" Scott was saying. "Now, I demand to know exactly where it is Captain Tallmadge ordered you to go!"

"General Scott, sir, the blame should not fall on Lieutenant Brewster," Tabitha interrupted hurriedly, and she felt her pulse quickening once again as General Scott's gaze fell on her instead. "Forgive my interruption, sir," she continued, "but this had nothing to do with Captain Tallmadge. I asked Lieutenant Brewster to assist me in a reconnaissance mission."

"This was your doing, McKenna?" Scott asked incredulously.

Tabitha nodded, and could feel Caleb's eyes burning into the back of her head. "Yes, sir," she answered stiffly. "Since the report of my escape was sorely lacking in detail, Lieutenant Brewster wanted to go over it again, to see if I remembered anything new."

"And what does that have to do with him disappearing for three days without permission?"

Tabitha shifted her weight and fixed her gaze on her boots. "I did remember something, sir," she muttered. "I don't know who was speaking, and I'm not sure if there was any truth to it, but one of the guards spoke of 'running the rest down like dogs', and I am of the belief that they meant to strike again before the regiments could regroup." She paused to take a breath, then continued. "Lieutenant Brewster has been scouting for patrols for the past few days. I wanted to be certain of the enemy's position before I made my final report. Unfortunately, I'm not familiar with terrain so far from Baltimore."

Silence met Tabitha's words, as General Scott regarded Caleb suspiciously. "And did you find any patrols, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Nothin' out there but the trees," Caleb said with a shrug. "I'm thinkin' McKenna here just overheard some loudmouth Private who'd been into the ale."

Tabitha glanced sidelong at Caleb, face a mask of indignation. "Still worth reporting, though," she argued. "If the enemy is planning a surprise attack—"

"All the enemy's attacks're meant to be a surprise, molly," he retorted. "And runnin' us like dogs is all they've been doing so far!"

General Scott sighed impatiently. "I want to read that report before you have it sent out," he said. "I appreciate the caution on your part, McKenna, but next time, I want to be notified before you send out any of my officers. Understood?"

Tabitha nodded. "Yes, sir. My apologies."

"Yer a sneaky little shite, aren't ya?" Caleb muttered out the corner of his mouth, as General Scott ducked back into the tent to their left. "But just so you know, I can handle General Scott."

"Clearly," was Tabitha's smug reply. "But I can do it better. I have his ear, after all."

Caleb frowned slightly. "And how did ya come by that?"

With an offhanded shrug, Tabitha pulled the letter out of her sleeve. "I know how men like him think. All I have to do is suggest he do things I know he's already considered, but is unsure of. Like the summary execution at the farm." A sickening realization was evident on Caleb's face, but she continued before he had the chance to reply. "Now, while I'm inclined to believe 'trouble from the south' is referencing the influx of Regulars moving toward New York for the winter, I find it difficult to believe you would risk so much for information everyone in the colonies already knows." She held up the letter in Caleb's face, and said, "Based on the context, I'm inclined to assume your contact in Setauket is recruiting a new female spy from another colony."

Caleb snatched the letter from Tabitha's outstretched hand. "How did ya get this?!"

"How is not the question. What you should be asking yourself is whether or not you think it would be hard for me to find a woman in a small town like Setauket who recently arrived from a southern colony. News like that would travel fast, and once she's been found, your letter-writer will inevitably come forward to help her. Because from his writing, they sound close. An old friend, perhaps. Or maybe even family. Not a sister, because she wouldn't have risked traveling away from home in wartime unless her true family was elsewhere. And the tone is all wrong for describing an aunt, so I'm inclined to think she's his cousin." She met Caleb's horrified stare with a simpering smile. "Did I get it?"

Her smile faltered slightly as she noticed Caleb's hand inching for his pistol. "How the hell did ya come to know about Setauket?" he growled, and Tabitha slowly held up her hands, palms forward, in an effort to appear non-threatening.

"Relax, Lieutenant," she said slowly. "I told you, I have Scott's ear. I've heard Captain Tallmadge mention something important about Setauket more than a few times, and since the two of you are thicker than thieves, I took a guess. Seems it was correct." When Caleb's hand didn't move from his pistol, she continued, "I'm not threatening anyone. I just want assurances of my own as well. I don't want to work with you just because I have to. And I'm sure you don't want someone whose only loyalty is derived from the fact that she has no other choice. But now that we both have our information, I think now is the time to start operating on a certain degree of trust, wouldn't you agree?"

Caleb's hand fell away from his pistol, and Tabitha released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Fine," Caleb said reluctantly. "But for right now you're coming with me. This is gonna be a pain in the arse to explain to Ben, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna do it alone."


	5. Troublemaker

Ben was distracted.

That alone was rather unusual for him, but given the circumstances, it wasn't exactly unexpected. Piles of parchment adorned his desk, with one pile teetering dangerously close to the candle stub. At this point, it was casting more shadows than light, and Ben was sorely tempted to just let the papers fall into the flame. With a sigh, he ran his hand down the center of his face, willing himself to concentrate on the letter in front of him.

The untidy scrawl and horrible syntax were only a few of the marked similarities between the fifty or so he'd read through earlier that evening. The most glaring resemblance was that of the so-called intelligence itself. "I think I seen a enemy soldier across the river." Or "British patrol ten miles out. They were going the other way." And Ben's personal favorite to date, "Smelled rabbit cooking. Not sure if enemy or ours. Will investigate further." Rubbing his eyes, he stared back down at the letter and, with a sudden wave of exasperation, realized he'd read the same two lines at least five times already.

General Scott hadn't called it punishment. He didn't have to. He could've called it a promotion, and Ben would've seen through it like glass. Spending days on end sifting through all the scouting reports (examples of the "correct methods for gathering intelligence", he'd called it) and cross-referencing them before writing up a final report was nothing short of torture.

A sudden gust of icy wind snapped him out of his stupor, and before he had a chance to see who had opened the tent flap, he found himself scrambling to catch the scattered letters before they fell into the candle flame. There was a second gust, and Ben cursed as the papers scattered once more, read mixing with unread as the night wind extinguished the candle.

"Damn it all," he muttered. "Where did the… Caleb, you arse!" he shouted suddenly, as the man's face was illuminated by the stove coals. A new candle flared to life, and Ben punched Caleb in the shoulder. "You're sorting all these letters for me, you know."

Caleb's grin widened even more, if at all possible. "Speaking of letters, Benny-boy, guess what I have for ya." He held out the crumpled parchment and waved it close to Ben's face.

"More from Abe?" Ben asked, making a swipe for the letter. "_Give_ me that, you…. Thank you."

Caleb snickered, and flopped down on the cot, regarding Ben expectantly. "Well? Go on and read it, then!"

"Like you haven't already?" came the amused reply. Caleb shrugged as he grabbed one of the abandoned reports off Ben's desk, then kicked up his feet as Ben read aloud, "_'Please know first and foremost that my last report from York City was not a mere stroke of luck.'_ Well, I certainly hope not," he added under his breath. "_'I am confident that information of the same quality can be obtained, but with a slight… change… in methods…'_" At this point, Ben's voice faded as he focused more intently on the letter, mouth forming the occasional word in silence as he read. "Caleb," he said after a minute. "Another agent? You knew about this?"

"Aye, Woody mentioned it last I saw 'im," Caleb replied, half focused on the letter in his hand. "Who the hell wrote this drivel?"

Ben glanced over the page and glared at the man so gleefully digging through his things. "Caleb…" he began warningly.

"Fine, Woody introduced me to 'er," he said, slapping the papers back on the desk in favor of snatching the leftover bread. "Well, I mean, when I say 'introduced'… It's Charlotte, our little troublemaker from Virginia."

For a moment, Ben's mouth hung open in disbelief. "_'Her'_?" he repeated, slightly louder. "Your 'troublemaker'?" His fist tightened around the already-crumbled parchment. "Well, this sure looks promising. Caleb, this is a very delicate operation. We can't just bring in people whenever we feel like it. That's the whole _point!_"

"You think I don' know that?" Caleb retorted. "A smaller group has fewer loose tongues. But if they don' have anything to say, they're useless. Ya read what Woody wrote. He can get us what we need. He just needs—"

"—this mysterious troublemaker from Virginia, I know," said Ben. "This," he waved the paper for emphasis, "is not a good idea."

Caleb shrugged. "Kinda knew ya'd say that," he said. "But ya got a few details wrong."

"Such as?"

"Well, fer starters, she's no mystery. She's Woody's cousin. Charlotte Adams. I think ya were away when she visited. Three of her brothers are with the 12th Virginia, including Theodore Adams. _Captain_ Theodore Adams." Ben remained unconvinced, so he continued. "She has papers, Tall-boy. Passes. She can go anywhere in the colonies she likes, and has plenty of reason to. Unlike Woody. And," he said with wave of his hands for dramatic effect, "she can get ta places where Woody couldn't, even if he weren't arguin' with his father. Her aunt's pretty popular. Fancy dinners with officers. Attending plays and parties and all that fancy tripe where none of us could fit in if we tried."

Ben sighed. "So we should just replace Abraham with Miss Adams, then, is that what you're saying?" he said after a moment's silence.

"I wouldn't complain," he replied with a devilish grin. "She's a damn lot easier on the eyes."

"It begins to make sense."

"Aah, that a smile I see?" Caleb teased, and Ben couldn't resist a soft chuckle.

Shaking his head, he sighed, "Caleb Brewster, you would give up the keys to the kingdom if a pretty girl smiled at you."

"So is that approval I'm hearing?" he pressed.

Ben sighed in resignation. "Yes, yes, fine," he said. "I'll meet her. But no more agents without consulting me first, okay?" Caleb actually had the decency to look apologetic for the few seconds it took Ben to realize something was wrong. "Okay?" he repeated, and Caleb grinned sheepishly.

"Gee, I sure wish you'd'a mentioned that little rule a bit sooner," he sighed.

"There is no possible way you recruited another agent in the ten minutes since you came in here and scattered all my papers!" Ben snapped. "How many people, Caleb?"

Caleb held his hands up. "Just the one more, I promise," he said. "And would ya believe me when I say that this one wasn' intentional?"

"Who?"

With a sigh, Caleb grabbed the half-eaten bread loaf and chucked it at the tent flap, grinning slightly at the muffled yelp on the other side. "Get in here, molly!" he called, and Ben barely had time to grab the papers on his desk before another gust of cold air heralded the arrival of a young lieutenant sporting two dead rabbits. "Meet yer new agent, Captain," he said enthusiastically, as the lieutenant inched closer to the fire.

Ben hadn't meant to roll his eyes. It just happened. "_Christ_, Caleb, why would I need a spy in our own camp?" he hissed. "I don't need someone telling me what Scott's doing. The man's an open book!" He stared at the lieutenant for a moment, and frowned. "I know you."

"We met briefly," Tabitha said gruffly, avoiding meeting his eyes for any longer than necessary. "At the farm. With those traitors."

"And speakin of 'those traitors'," Caleb interrupted, and Tabitha's eyes widened. "Scott had a bit of counselin' before shootin' em. This one here," he elbowed Tabitha in the ribs, "can make our General dance."

A flash of anger marred Ben's face for a moment, but it was concealed almost as quickly as it had appeared. "I'll ask again, Caleb," he repeated, voice a bit lower this time. Darker, almost. "Why would I need the services of a man with General Scott under his thumb?" Tabitha glanced sidelong at Caleb as he continued. "Did you ever think of what he could say to _keep_ Scott under his thumb?"

Tabitha swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and spoke, "The fact that he listens to what I say does not make me his pet, Captain. I know what men like him want, and so far as he's concerned, he's making all the decisions himself. With these types of men, you can't tell them what to do. You simply suggest it in a way that sounds appealing." She suddenly found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable under Ben's gaze. "I don't mean to speak out of turn, but I believe Lieutenant Brewster was right to include Miss Adams."

A pregnant silence filled the tent as Ben's eyes locked with Tabitha's. She was aware of Caleb repositioning himself on Ben's cot, and the dripping of tallow as the candle burned low. "I _know_ I know you," he whispered intently. "What's your name, Lieutenant?"

"That's the best part," Caleb interrupted, and both sets of eyes snapped towards him. "How we know for sure the little shite won't fink on us." The room was too warm, and a bead of sweat slid across Tabitha's brow into the dark hair at her temple. "Benny-boy, I'd say we got this one by the balls but, well, that wouldn't work, would it? Meet Second Lieutenant Aaron McKenna, _Lady_ o' War."

Tabitha's pounding heartbeat filled her ears as Caleb's words sank in. She'd been caught. She knew it the instant the name "McKenna" formed silently on Ben's lips. "Tabitha," he breathed. She couldn't reply. Not out of fear or from lack of words, but because there simply was nothing to say.

"You two… know each other?" Whatever Caleb had been expecting, it hadn't been this. Ben's face was stricken, and in all honestly, he looked rather ill. Aaron—or Tabitha, or whatever—didn't look any better off. Seemingly torn between the urge to run or swoon, her face was raw with the same emotions Ben was clearly attempting to rein in.

When it came, Ben's answer was shaky, and his voice thick. "Caleb, do you recall the letters I sent to you last year?"

The sudden realization hit Caleb like a sack of bricks. The two had exchanged letters regularly when the war first began; mostly concerning the fighting, women, and new sights they'd seen across the colonies. A favorite discovery of Ben's had been a Major who had gifted him with several oranges from Georgia—a fruit he'd later claimed he would be willing to eat for the rest of his life, if the opportunity presented itself. But the tone of his letters gradually changed. At first, Caleb attributed the short, clipped nature of Ben's correspondence to the increased workload—what with him being a Dragoon and all. A month later, however, and _the_ letter arrived—long and chatty as before, but this time announcing his engagement to a certain Miss Tabitha Maeve McKenna.

Everything Caleb could have wished to say in response, from the sudden nature of the engagement to his surprise that a woman had been permitted in the encampment in the first place, were all addressed in the letter. Ben had acknowledged the engagement was taking place rather fast, but he'd also spent the whole letter (and several others just like them) describing in awe the beautiful woman he was to wed. Her dark hair, her green eyes, her razor-sharp wit, her unrivaled aim with both musket and arrows… and her uncanny inclination towards violence. He'd described her as being in every way his equal in terms of combat, and Caleb had assumed he was either drunk on ale or infatuation. But he _had_ to have been somehow intoxicated.

Then the letters slowly began to change in tone. Less about her beauty, charm and wit, and more about obstinance, brutality and open hostility. Finally, any mention of her had stopped altogether, until one heartbreaking letter full of blame and self-loathing and general loss arrived, quickly explaining Tabitha had left, and would not return.

"You," he said, staring pointedly at Tabitha. It was almost a question, but not quite. More disbelief than actual inquiry. "_You?_"

Tabitha chose to ignore him. "Ben, please, just let me explain," she began.

"Explain?" Ben's voice had changed. Ripe with anger, and bordering hysterical, his eyes burned as he practically spat the words. "What would you care to _explain_, Tabby?"

"Aaron's dead." There was something about those words that struck her. Something about _saying_ them that fueled her determination once again, and she felt the fear slowly ebb from her chest. "Aaron's dead, and without him, I have nothing," she continued. Stronger. "By taking his place, I can keep my land and belongings, and maybe find a way to avenge him."

Ben probably hadn't intended to sound so outright cruel when he laughed, but he was beyond caring. "Avenge him?" he repeated. "Can we pretend for a moment that I don't already know _exactly_ what you're trying to do? Maybe you could explain _how_ you plan to avenge him. You don't even know how he died!"

That was the last straw for Tabitha. "What I'm 'trying to do'?" she echoed indignantly. "Enlighten me, _Captain_. What is it you think I'm _trying_ to do?"

"Far from me to state the obvious, but you've always had a nasty streak about you," he shot back. "I shouldn't even be surprised to see you here. A war is where you belong! Your brother's death was simply your opportunity!"

Tabitha refused to acknowledge the tears pooling in her eyes, or the fierce pounding of her heart against her ribcage. All she could see was red. Red, and the blue coat of the man in front of her. "What do you want from me, Tallmadge?!" she shrieked. "A bloody apology?! The only thing I regret is not splattering that damn lobsterback's brains across your stupid face! Had I been born a man, _**I**_ would be commanding _you_, and you would know what discipline in the Continental Army truly entails! Not the half-arsed threats from General Scott!" She had taken several steps towards Ben, and the candle flickered dangerously low as he brushed past it.

"Caleb, get out."

Caleb looked up, then frowned as Ben's eyes remained fixed on Tabitha's face. "If yer gonna kill 'er, at least let me help."

"Just go," Ben replied. "I need to talk with her."

With a sigh, Caleb rose from the cot and made his way toward the tent flap, and picked up one of the discarded cottontails. "Come find me when one o' ya're dead. Thanks for the rabbit, molly."

"Don't mention it," she replied curtly, never once breaking eye contact with Ben. Caleb ducked out the flap, and the wintry night air filled the tent once more. The candle flickered once, twice, and died, leaving the two remaining occupants shrouded in darkness.


	6. Defiance

The tension in the room seemed to lessen somewhat as Ben fumbled for another candle in the darkness. The light from the small stove was nearly nonexistent, but Tabitha could just barely make out Ben's silhouette as he sifted through the contents of his desk drawers. "Here," she said finally, pulling a half-burned candle stub from her waist pouch. "This should work."

"Thank you," Ben murmured, and within seconds, the room was flooded with dim, flickering light. "Oh, _here_they are," he grumbled, picking up the small box of candlesticks from beside the cot. "Who put them over here?" He sank down onto the small bed, and motioned for Tabitha to do the same. As she pulled the rickety desk chair up beside him, he pulled one of the yellowing candles from the box. "I wrote you," he said after a brief silence. "After you left, I mean. Twice."

"I know," she replied softly. "But I never read them." Upon seeing Ben's confused expression, her mouth twisted into a wry imitation of a smile. "Would you prefer I had? Would it make our situation any easier?"

"No, I suppose not," he sighed, slumping forward to prop his elbows on his knees. Face resting in his hands, he said, "Why are you really here, then?"

"It's as I told you," Tabitha replied. "Aaron is dead. And without my father, or any brothers, or a… a husband to speak of, I would not have been permitted to keep our farm."

Ben glanced up at her for a moment, then redirected his gaze to the floor. "You could easily have married," he commented. "You mentioned a man named O'Brian who had eyes for you."

"Not after word of my engagement spread throughout the parish," Tabitha replied almost bitterly. "I wrote to Sister Anne and Sister Bridget with the announcement. They were thrilled, obviously, and told everyone they could. And why shouldn't they have?" she added as an afterthought. "I was thrilled too. We both were."

Another silence filled the tent, pierced only by the whistling of the wind outside. Ben remained unmoving, eyes fixed on the earthy floor beneath his boots. The steady rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life until he spoke; softer this time. "Do you still blame me?" he asked. "For the child, I mean?"

Tabitha's mouth thinned slightly as she took a moment to consider her response. "Had you killed that scout as I requested, he would never have returned to attack," she replied finally. "And if I listened to you in the beginning and returned to Baltimore, I would not have been shot." Ben glanced up uncertainly, and Tabitha shrugged. "What happened was a tragedy, Ben. Nothing more, and no one is to blame."

"Is that an apology, then?" Ben asked.

"I never should have blamed you," she replied simply. "I was angry. So _angry._ But as I said, that is not the reason I'm here." Tabitha sighed heavily. "To be perfectly honest, I had no intention of joining your regiment. I'd planned on joining the 12th Virginia, like your mystery woman's brothers. Requesting a transfer after so traumatizing an event seemed believable enough."

"And the reality?"

Tabitha shrugged. "It's a lot easier to hide around a bunch of blokes who don't know the man whose name I've assumed."

"That, and the 12th has better ale, I hear."

Completely taken off-guard by the sudden joke, Tabitha couldn't help laughing. "Yes, they do," she replied once she caught her breath. "I was sent ahead with some other men to meet General Scott at the farm," she concluded. "I had no idea you'd be with them until right before we arrived. And suggesting a summary execution in lieu of a trial rang so favorably with General Scott that he requested I be permanently transferred to the 2nd Dragoons. I didn't know about any of this until after it was made official."

Ben chewed his lower lip in thought—a trait Tabitha remembered all too well. It was unlikely that he was even aware he was doing it on most occasions, and that—amongst other traits—had been one of the things she found most endearing about him. "How did Caleb come to recruit you?"

"Honestly, I don't think he intended to," she said. "I was skinning one of the rabbits—the same one he just stole—when he found me in the woods. He found out what I am rather fast, and I believe he was going to try and blackmail me into manipulating General Scott for him."

"But you got one over on him," Ben finished matter-of-factly. "Now that he knows you, you do realize you'll never be able to pull the wool over his eyes again?"

"I wouldn't say that," she said with a shrug. "I never really tricked him to begin with." She leaned forward earnestly, and Ben unconsciously found himself mirroring her. "You remember the priest I told you about? The one who raised Aaron and I."

Ben nodded. "Michael Ahearn?"

"Yes, him. There was a game he would play with Aaron and I when we were children. He would keep a handful of sweets in his pockets, and if we could steal one without him noticing, we got to keep it." Tabitha grinned widely. "I had quite the sweet tooth, so I got very good."

Ben shook his head. "A priest who teaches young children to steal?"

"You should have heard the filthy limericks he mixed in with his sermons," she laughed. "He said it was to make sure people were paying attention. His lessons proved very advantageous, though, as I doubt anyone short of a professional would have been able to slip that letter out of Brewster's waistband without him noticing."

"That's probably why he recruited you in the first place."

"When I deduced the contents of the letter, I had no hopes of being 'recruited' into anything." Tabitha leaned back in her chair again, legs crossed. "I was just hoping to make him nervous enough to back off and let me be."

"His mistake," Ben commented dryly. "I'm certain he'll see the error of his ways."

"Doubtful. From what I've seen, once he starts down a path, he tends to just keep going." Tabitha mimed a walking motion with her index and middle finger.

Ben arched an eyebrow. "Maybe you don't know him as well as you think," he said pointedly. "Because if you did, you would know not to assume he'll act in any predictable manner." Tabitha frowned slightly at his tone, but he still spoke as though he hadn't noticed. "And therein lies the problem. _You don't know him_. "

"I don't see how my familiarity with Lieutenant Brewster has anything to do with... well, anything."

"He probably hasn't explained to you how the process works, so allow me. Caleb is my courier. I have an agent—well, two now, it seems—who signal whenever they have information. Caleb brings it back to me, and I forward it to the appropriate recipients."

Tabitha sighed. "An excellent system, but I'd gathered as much already."

"Well then, let me get to the part that seems to have eluded you." Tabitha's frown deepened, and she met his stony gaze with a look of her own. "Caleb is a vital part of our system. Arguably the most important part. And he is useful to me because I can trust him to be unpredictable. He's difficult to track, he knows his way around a boat better than any man I've ever met, and he's no pushover, as you seem to think he is. My man in Setauket—"

"Abraham," Tabitha corrected boldly, face lined with contempt.

"—is useful because I can trust his fidelity and connections in his community." Her interruption was ignored. "In a figurative sense of the word, he's invisible."

Tabitha picked up the letter from the center of the desk, and held it out to Ben. "If trust is the issue here, why would you consider allowing a girl you've never met into a mission as important as this?"

He took the letter from her and tossed it back on the desk. "Because Caleb trusts her. And so does Abraham. _You_, on the other hand," His voice lowered slightly as he stood from the cot. "I've seen you shoot a man in the face without a moment's hesitation. You have no grasp of the concept of mercy, you advise executions without a trial, and your entire purpose is one of self-preservation and revenge."

"This is war," came the stiff reply. "I _hardly_ require your approval in my methodology."

Ben laughed humorlessly. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong, _Lieutenant_," he said. "You might have been able to put Caleb on edge, but I promise you now that it will _not _ work on me. And I will not allow a reckless killer with an insatiable thirst for blood to be in _any_ way responsible for the safety of our contacts."

"You know, _Captain_," Tabitha replied, rising to her feet as well. "If I didn't know better, I would assume you're actually angry with me for other reasons."

Her pores seethed defiance. Ben could practically feel it rolling off her in waves as she stood barely an inch away from him, breath hot on his face. "I could list a thousand reasons to be angry with you," he snapped.

"Name one."

There was no passion; none of the fire that had consumed their bodies what felt like an eternity ago. Only rage. Their lips did not meet so much as they collided, and smooth planes of flesh where their hands had once ghosted lovingly across were now marred by contusions and filth and rough cloth. Ben's teeth sank into Tabitha's lip, and she ripped her mouth away before slamming her forehead into his face with a loud crack.

Blood poured from Ben's nose to match the crimson trails bubbling from Tabitha's mouth, and it just _isn't enough_. Her knee collided with his stomach, and he doubled over. Tabitha briefly considered kneeing him in the face too for good measure, but then his hand shot up and curled around her throat. His eyes seemed somewhat darker as he glared up at her from his stooped position, and as he stood, she could clearly see the urge to kill on his face.

"Try it," she managed to splutter out, and she allowed herself to fall backwards, legs pushing up as she went down and almost effortlessly flipping Ben onto his back behind her. She gasped loudly as the air filled her lungs, but then the hands were back. He wasn't finished yet either, it seemed. Her first punch landed on the underside of his jaw, at the same time her knee collided once again with his stomach.

A single drop fell on her face, and with a start, she realized there were tears in his eyes, slowly mingling with the blood on his face. "I loved you," he hissed.

"And I…. you…" she managed in reply, and suddenly his hands were gone. Her sharp gasp was quickly followed by a coughing fit. She rolled onto her side and slowly pushed herself to her knees. Ben's chokehold was replaced instead by a hesitant embrace. "We can't go back to that, can we?" he said.

"No."

They sat in silence for a few moments, breathing heavily, surrounded by destruction and the last flickers of candlelight. "Can you answer me a question?" he asked finally. "Really answer, I mean. None of your usual shit." Tabitha nodded silently. "If the child… if our child had survived… would you still have left?"

Tabitha's pulse quickened, and thinking of the newborn squirming in Sister Bridget's arms—usually such a calming memory—left her feeling slightly ill. "Yes," she whispered, unable to look Ben in the eye. "This life… whatever it is we had planned… it would never have worked for us. I couldn't see it then, but now I realize we would have been miserable."

Ben sighed heavily and slumped against her shoulder. "You fight like a man," he winced finally, and Tabitha shook her head.

"No, I fight like a woman," she replied. "A woman who fights _better_ than a man."

"We'll need someone like that." Tabitha pulled back, and saw the look of resignation on Ben's face. "I don't trust you," he continued. "But you hate the British more than anyone I've encountered, so I suppose I shouldn't call your loyalty into question." For a moment, Ben seemed lost for words as Tabitha stared back expectantly. "I trust your hatred."

Tabitha let out a short bark of a laugh. "Thanks to His Majesty's army looting and burning under the guise of maintaining order, Aaron felt obligated to join the Continental army so he could protect me. Had those lobsters simply let us be, my brother would still be alive!" Her voice was harsh, and she felt the telltale prickle of tears gathering in her eyes. "My hatred is only thing about me you _should_ trust, Captain."


	7. Poison

By the time Tabitha made it back to her tent, most of the blood on her face had dried, and the sharp, stinging pain had subsided to a dull ache. She didn't need a looking-glass to know that her mouth and left brow would be a fine painting of bruises and swelling by the next morning. She winced as she pressed a finger to the split along the curve of her eyebrow. She hadn't expected Ben to have such a hard head. In a literal sense, at least.

Her heart still drummed against her ribcage, and though her cot looked inviting enough and her eyes felt as though they were lined with sandpaper she couldn't bring herself to lie down. Ben's words were still echoing in her ears—particularly the ones concerning the baby. _Their_baby, the one he thought long dead. Or perhaps not dead, because as far as Ben was concerned, the child had never lived.

With luck, that would be enough for him. Ben would forgive her eventually, as he had before on numerous occasions. One of his most glaring flaws, she always thought, but now that same mercy was working in her favor. As a courtesy—and if Ben was anything, it was courteous—she knew he would refrain from encroaching the topic of their failed engagement, and any event that may have come after. She was counting on it. Because as long as he kept his distance, she was safe.

A small smile formed on her lips before she could think, and she immediately winced. Her tongue darted from between her teeth to graze along the broken flesh of her bottom lip as she brought her fingers to press against it.

"Surprised ya got off that easy," Caleb's voice said from behind her, and for the second time in as many hours, Tabitha's arm was twisted behind her back before she had the chance to turn around. This time, however, she didn't bother struggling. Whether it was the simple familiarity or sheer exhaustion, she wasn't sure.

"What do you want, Lieutenant Brewster?" she droned irritably. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I am _not_ interested in any lecture you might want to give me."

She felt rather than heard the low rumble of laughter from his chest. "I'm not here to lecture you, Tabby-cat," he said. "I'm here ta warn you."

Tabitha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Of _what_, exactly?" she said through ground teeth. She felt his hand briefly tighten before her forearm was unceremoniously wrenched back to its original position, and fought not to stumble as Caleb pulled her back to face him.

This was not the same Lieutenant she'd encountered in the forest. The humor was gone from his face, and the laughter in his eyes was replaced by a cold fury Tabitha knew she was the source of. "Hurt him again," he hissed, "even upset him for a fucking second, and I will _destroy_ you." Tabitha felt her blood run cold as Caleb continued. "You didn't see what he was like after you left. Ya left him all kinds of screwed up, and I'll tell ya this right now," he paused for breath, and seemed to be searching for the right words, finally settling for, "You're poison."

"Poison," Tabitha echoed softly.

"Honestly, I don' care what you do with your life," he said. "But when it involves the guy I call my brother, you've got something else comin' to ya."

Tabitha wrenched her arm free of Caleb's grasp. "_You_ didn't see what he was like _before_ I left!" she shot back, eyes flashing. "He was no more suited to be an officer than you are to wear a skirt!"

"You watch it," Caleb warned, paying no mind to the haughty look on Tabitha's face as he took a slow step closer.

"Or what?" Tabitha replied with a casual tilt of her head. "You'll strike me? Go on, then. What makes you think you'll fare any better than Ben did?"

"First off, that's _Captain_ Tallmadge to you," came the sharp retort, "And if it were up to me, I'd have you reported to General Scott for strikin' a superior officer. How_ever_," he added somewhat bitterly, "Ben seems to have other plans for ya."

"Oh, I'll bet he does," Tabitha muttered darkly. "Would you care to elaborate?"

Caleb shrugged. "You're goin' with us to Setauket."

Of all the things she'd been expecting, this hadn't been one of them. "What?"

"Oh, ya deaf now?" Caleb snapped. "Ben wants you there when he meets Charlotte."

"I got that much, thank you." Tabitha's irritation seemed a distant memory as her mouth hung slightly open in surprise. "Did he give a reason?"

"Nope. Just asked me to make sure ya don't go opening that big mouth of yours."

"Who am I likely to tell, _Lieutenant_?" she retorted. "You and _Captain_ Tallmadge have made my situation quite—"

Caleb shook his head as he interrupted, "We're not worried about that. I meant, when you're with us. Charlotte Adams is no fool, and she'd probably figure out what you are the second you open yer mouth." He grinned. "So keep it shut."

"Why bother bringing me, then?"

Caleb gave her a sharp poke to the chest. "You could start practicin' now, if you want," he said. "It's easy. You just shut your mouth." Tabitha glared. "You're in the army now, Tabby-cat. Better get used to followin' orders."

"Yes, sir."

Caleb seemed satisfied with her humble reply. "Good. I'll come and collect you tomorrow night. Stay out of trouble until then."

"The same to you, _sir_," she replied, glaring daggers as he exited her tent.


	8. Liar

The next day seemed to pass much faster than usual, and Tabitha could only attribute it to her frayed nerves. Accompanying Caleb and Ben to Setauket wasn't a worrisome concept, but the prospect of being alone with the two of them—far from the unspoken protection of General Scott—filled her with endless paranoid fantasies. She knew Ben well enough to doubt he would toss her overboard to freeze, but of Caleb, she couldn't be sure. She thought back on Ben's earlier words about Caleb's sheer lack of predictability and scowled.

If either of them thought they'd be able to simply throw her out of a boat, they were in for a surprise, she thought with a huff.

"Good evening, Lieutenant McKenna." Tabitha almost jumped at hearing General Scott's voice, but caught herself with a simple intake of breath and straightened her back almost instinctively.

"Good evening, General," she replied, inclining her head slightly. "Is that Captain Tallmadge I see behind you, sir?"

Scott's eyes flickered to the left briefly, as though to confirm that yes, it was indeed Ben Tallmadge and Caleb Brewster following him. "I assume they told you I was coming," the General said dryly, and Tabitha caught Ben's eye in confusion. The briefest shake of his head told her all she needed to know.

"He did mention it, sir," she said simply, hoping against hope she wouldn't be asked to elaborate.

General Scott continued. "Tallmadge and Brewster both tell me you refuse to drop the issue of what you overheard during your imprisonment," he said. "They say you are 'obsessed' with the possibility of a surprise attack from the enemy."

Something clicked in Tabitha's mind, and she bit back a grin as she answered, "I must admit, I take offense to what the Captain and Lieutenant are insinuating. Lieutenant Brewster was correct in stating that all enemy attacks are intended to take us on unawares, but if there is the smallest chance that one could be prevented, I shall remain 'obsessed' with preventing it until that chance passes." If the impressed look on General Scott's face was anything to go by, Tabitha felt she had sounded more than irritated enough for the occasion.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Lieutenant McKenna," General Scott said. "And I will tell you what I told Captain Tallmadge: This sort of intelligence should not be ignored, and you were right to raise such a commotion about it. Next time something like this happens, I would like to be the first to know."

"Yes sir. My apologies. I thought it best if the Captain were to inform you himself. I didn't want to overstep my bounds."

Caleb snorted. "Oversteppin' your bounds?" he repeated. "You were oversteppin' your bounds when you disobeyed orders to ignore useless information and—"

"_Useless?!_" Tabitha repeated, voice laced with faux indignation.

"Aye, you heard me. Useless."

"_You're_ useless!"

"Lieutenant McKenna!" General Scott snapped. "Control yourself."

Tabitha felt the heat rising in her cheeks. "Sorry, sir," she muttered.

"However." Scott rounded on Caleb and Ben. "I'm inclined to agree with the Lieutenant. He will be reporting directly to me after your scouting mission, and if I hear you ignored any of his input, there _will_ be consequences."

Ben's eyes met Tabitha's for a brief second, as he nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll have Lieutenant McKenna draft his report and present it to you in person immediately upon our return."

"Not like we're gonna _find_ anything to report on—"

"That's enough out of you, Brewster," Scott interjected. "Now get out of here, all of you. Unless I'm mistaken, you have a lot of ground to cover."

"Thank you sir," Tabitha said, and with an offhand wave, the General turned back toward the encampment. "You didn't tell me General Scott would be here," she said once he was out of earshot.

Ben shrugged lightly. "I simply hoped that by informing him of your whereabouts, you would feel less inclined to think we're planning on murdering you once we get you alone."

"I must admit, the thought had crossed my mind." She exhaled softly, risking a small smile at the two men. "Thank you for that."

A corner of Ben's mouth quirked briefly as he brushed past her. "I also wished to see for myself if you were as good a liar as Caleb claimed." Tabitha raised an eyebrow inquisitively, but refrained from asking. "I am both pleased and concerned to find he was not exaggerating."

A twig snapped under his boots as he started down the hill, and Tabitha was left facing Caleb. "Remember," he said lowly. "Not a word around Charlotte Adams."

"Would Miss Adams be frightened to find a woman tasked with her safety?"

Caleb snickered. "Doubt it," he replied. "But Woody might. He's a... flighty fellow. Best not to send him runnin'."

"Well then." She offered a mocking bow, and gestured to her right. "After you, _Lieutenant_."

"You can drop the sauce any time, Tabby-cat," he grumbled in reply.

"Not on your life, sir."


	9. Miss Adams

This chapter is Tabitha's view of By Land or By Sea's Chapter 5. If you haven't read that yet, I suggest you do so! This chapter will not make much sense otherwise.

* * *

Tabitha had lost sight of the shore mere minutes after the small boat had launched into the sound. Occasionally, she could make out the dim outline of a conifer in the distance, but nothing more in the dark. As the hours passed, she knew a lantern would be pointless, but wished for one all the same. Ben seemed more than confident in Caleb's skill with a boat, however, so she gradually forced herself to relax, allowing her fingertips to skim the surface of the water as the two men adjusted the sail for the umpteenth time.

"I got it, Tall-boy," Caleb was saying. "Just leave the work to the master, eh?"

Though the dark made the act of rolling his eyes useless, the annoyance was still clear in Ben's voice. "Well, if _the Master_ didn't continuously complain about having to do all the work himself…"

"With you fumbling about here, I might as well be," Caleb replied. "There, got it. See how easy that was?"

Ben snorted. "I'll remember this the next time you complain, Caleb."

"You do that." The breeze had picked up slightly, and Tabitha shrugged her coat a bit higher on her shoulders, flipping the collar to shield her neck from the chill. "Not cold, are ya, Tabby-cat?" Caleb asked with a smirk, and Tabitha frowned.

"I'm not overly fond of boats," she admitted stiffly. "Why must your contacts be on an _island?_"

Caleb sounded far too amused for Tabitha's liking. "You get seasick?"

"Just keep your eyes on the moon," Ben offered helpfully, and Tabitha glanced skywards.

The moon was mostly shadow, but bright enough to leave an afterglow as she glanced back toward the captain. "What is it you want me to look for in Miss Adams?" she asked. "You said outright that you don't trust me-"

"-and I don't."

"Nor should you," Tabitha continued. "Why, then, would you want _my_ opinion of your newest agent?"

Ben shrugged, and rested his arm on the side of the boat. "You harbor an... inherently nasty hatred of the British," he said slowly. "And that means if you find a glaring flaw in Miss Adams, you will say so. Because remaining silent only helps the enemy."

"Why not Lieutenant Brewster, then?" she countered.

"I'm not implying that Caleb doesn't know how to choose an agent," Ben said. "Only that neither of us are quite as well versed in the subtleties of women."

Caleb laughed at Ben's words. "Subtleties're probably the only aspect of a woman that I don't care to be 'versed' in," he cackled.

"How well d'ya swim, Lieutenant Brewster?" Tabitha asked sharply, voice unconsciously thickening in a heavier lilt. "Because I believe ya may have need t'do so in the near future."

"That a threat?" Caleb replied, grin widening. "Bet I pull you in with me if you try."

"Keep talkin', ya gobshite, and we'll find out."

Ben slapped a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes briefly before getting to his feet. "Will you two keep your voices down? I can see the dock already."

With a muffled curse, Caleb got to his feet and reached to the halyard, and Tabitha once again fixed her eyes on the moon as the boat began to rock. In her peripheral vision, she saw the mainsail fluttering as it was lowered down the mast. The boat gave an almighty lurch as he grasped the rudder, and she let out a low groan as Ben staggered to his feet as well.

"Would ya sit _down_, Benny-boy?" Caleb said, exasperated. "You're the only person I know who insists on standing in a boat while it's still sailin'! Ya shite!"

"There's no call for that kind of language, Caleb, we're to be in mixed compan—"

"Sit down, you're tipping me in!" Tabitha all but shrieked, knuckles white as she clutched the mast.

"Daft bastard!" There was another lurch, and Ben grasped the rigging for a semblance of balance. "Don't pull the—"

"Well stop swaying, then!"

Tabitha groaned as the boat slammed into the dock with a crunch, and she silently prayed that if the boat was indeed sinking, Ben would go down with it.

"Abe!" Caleb called, and Tabitha briefly wondered how they hadn't been surrounded by Redcoats. "Help me tie the boat, will ya?"

A man—Abe, she assumed—grabbed the sodden rope Caleb had tossed onto the planks above them as Ben fumbled for the ladder.

"Benny boy, I swear if you don't get your arse up that ladder," Caleb began threateningly.

"You're moving too much! Caleb, I thought you were a proper boatman!" Tabitha bit her lip to stifle a giggle as the two continued to bicker. There were more footsteps on the deck above them, and a hand was extended slightly over the edge of the planks.

Though she couldn't see much farther past her companions, and though she hadn't an inkling of an idea as to what Abraham Woodhull or Charlotte Adams looked like, the small, oval-shaped fingertips glowing in the moonlight were certainly not those of a farmer—or of any man Tabitha had ever met. Ben clearly hadn't noticed this, however, as he grasped the hand rather unceremoniously and hauled himself onto the deck, attention still half-focused on a half-arsed insult about Caleb's nautical skills.

He promptly fell silent, however, and Tabitha smirked as she realized Ben must have discovered his mistake. Abe seemed to have noticed as well, as his voice broke the echoing silence. "Captain Benjamin Tallmadge, may I present my cousin, Miss Charlotte Cornelia Adams."

There might have been a whisper, but it was quickly followed by the scuff of boots on the planks, and Ben Tallmadge's voice was all charm. "Miss Adams," he said.

"Captain," a musical voice responded, and Tabitha rolled her eyes, wondering briefly if her impression of the (clearly lovely) Miss Adams would be needed after all.

Caleb, meanwhile, had had more than enough of clinging to the ladder. "If you move your college boy arse, we can all stand on the dock," he snapped.

Tabitha made a mental note to share the next brace of cottontails she came by with the boatman. Provided he didn't irritate her again.

There was a light giggle from above them, and Caleb hoisted himself onto the dock as Ben began to profusely apologize on their behalf. "Especially this one," he concluded, as Caleb dug an apple from the depths of his coat pockets.

"Caleb? Oh, he's all right," Charlotte replied warmly, and Tabitha peered over the deck just in time to see Ben shoot him a glare.

As she rose to her feet, she became aware of not one, but two sets of eyes fixed on her, both with various degrees of curiosity. Abe truly did deserve Caleb's description of a 'flighty fellow'. The man made so many small, jerky movements out of sheer nervousness that Tabitha began to feel seasick again. Clearly Caleb hadn't mentioned there would be a third member in their party.

Charlotte, however…

"This is, uh, Second Lieutenant Aaron McKenna," Ben said hesitantly, and Tabitha bowed as she had seen Aaron do numerous times before. Charlotte lowered herself in a gentle pool of silk and grace, and Tabitha briefly allowed her eyes to absorb as many details as possible. The finery, the poise, and the general air about her clearly marked her as a lady of high social standing. Or, at least, a higher standing than Tabitha was accustomed to. But there was definitely something else there.

She glanced away as Charlotte straightened, and Abe extended an arm to Tabitha. Without hesitation, she accepted it, and nodded at the man's muttered greeting. For the quickest second, her eyes locked with his, and she saw the faintest hint of a challenge reflected back at her. Not a total coward, then, she realized. A nervous wreck, certainly, but with more substance than Caleb seemed to give him credit for.

Ben wasted no time in striking up conversation with Charlotte—relevant conversation, to his credit—asking about everything from her home to her family to social circles. Tabitha did not once look away from the other woman, eyes fixed firmly on her porcelain face. There was an eagerness in her posture, and whether or not that had anything to do with Ben's over-the-top charm was debatable. Her words were clear, prim and precise—a well-spoken lady to be sure.

"Unfortunately, I have no experience with poisons," she was saying, and Tabitha's brow furrowed.

Ben and Caleb laughed, and Tabitha took the cover of their voices as an opportunity to mutter a brief, "_An bhfuil sí dáiríre?_" out the corner of her mouth. Caleb shot her a look and shook his head, and she fell silent once again.

"Well," Ben continued, "I certainly wouldn't want to put a lady in jeopardy, but it seems you've established a possible method for leaving letters and meeting agents as information arises that seems quite sound."

Tabitha was rapt with attention. Ben and Caleb hadn't mentioned anything about communication to her, and upon reflection, had probably never intended to.

"The bell and the anchor are inside that box. I would hang the bell if a message were in that tree with the very large vacant cavern, and the anchor if I want to meet."

Abraham seemed quite a bit less impressed with this strategy as he said for what was probably the hundredth time, "I would like to avoid meetings in favor of drops if possible, in Charlotte's case."

Tabitha felt a brief twinge of anger. Charlotte seemed more than capable of speaking on her own behalf; who did Abraham Woodhull think he was?

"We of course wouldn't want to…offend or anger your intended by placing you in any danger," Ben said, and Tabitha was snapped out of her momentary reverie.

"_Mo dhia_," she groaned under her breath, and this time, Caleb caught her eye with a smirk, which she returned begrudgingly.

Charlotte seemed just as thrown by this statement as the rest of the group, and Ben's over-eager reply of "You don't have an intended?" sorely tried Tabitha's determination not to laugh.

She clearly wasn't the only one, as the silence was repeatedly _almost_ broken by Caleb's equally assiduous efforts to keep quiet. Charlotte was explaining her detailed and clearly meticulously thought-out plan for their lines of communication, and the more she spoke, the more effort Ben had to exert on hearing her words and not simply the sound of her voice.

Tabitha gave Caleb a discreet nudge, nodding towards the hills in the distance. Caleb seemed to get the message, as did Ben when Caleb clapped a hand rather unceremoniously on the captain's shoulder.

"Miss Adams," Ben said gently, stepping closer to Charlotte in a way reminiscent to Tabitha of Father Michael approaching a new horse. "It's been my….pleasure, to meet you. You are a welcome addition to our efforts. We would, if you wouldn't mind, like to speak with Abraham in private."

Charlotte's curtsey was, as expected, elegant and graceful. "It's been my pleasure to meet you both," she said; more to Ben, it seemed, but Tabitha nodded politely nonetheless.

"Do take care of yourself," Ben called, and Tabitha's hand flew to her forehead in exasperation.

Charlotte's melodious reply of "Yes, Captain," seemed to echo momentarily, and Ben looked somewhat dazed as she hurried up the hill.

"How she moves in that number of skirts…" Tabitha began, but trailed off as she noticed Ben's eyes fixed on the moonlit figure at the crest of the hill, skirts billowing about her in a way that seemed erethral in its own right. She didn't make a second attempt.

"Caleb didn't mention you'd be joining us tonight, Mr. McKenna" Abe said, turning his attention to Tabitha.

"Likely 'cause he didn' know either," she replied allowing her accent to slip slightly as her voice deepened. "I have a… ah, a particular skill set I am honored ta utilize fer Capt'n Tallmadge."

"And what skill set would that be?" Abe asked, voice layered with suspicion that clearly came as natural to him as breathing.

Tabitha just smiled, and her smile was full of teeth. "I would be a terrible spy if I spilled all me secrets t'ya on our firs' meetin, Mr. Woodhull," she said simply. "Canna go havin' one man with all the keys, now can we?"

Abe exchanged glances with Caleb, who shrugged. "Real piece of work, isn' he?" Caleb said. "But he's a sharp little shite, and pretty useful in a tight spot."

"And he knows less about you than you do about him," Ben added finally, and Tabitha cocked her head in surprise. "Apart from your name, he knows nothing pertaining to you, or our arrangement. And for the time being, it will stay that way."

For a moment, Abe looked ready to argue. To yell, to say _some_thing, but instead he nodded, and all he said was a muttered, "Can't have one man with all the keys."

* * *

Google!Translation of Tabby's gratuitous Gaelic:  
An bhfuil sí dáiríre?...Is she serious?  
Mo dhia...Oh my god.


	10. Smitten

The light in the distant window had long since faded from view, but Ben's eyes remained fixed on the horizon as they sailed into the night. The silence was getting uncomfortable, and Tabitha slowly and unsteadily rose to her feet, clutching the mast for support as she cleared her throat. Ben glanced back at her, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"_Miss_ Adams," Tabitha said with a mock flourish and a bow, before descending into peals of laughter. Ben's face flushed an almost comical shade of red as Caleb joined in, bumping the rudder slightly and forcing Tabitha to either sit or take an untimely plunge.

"Shut up, both of you," Ben muttered.

"Yes, Captain!" she replied in a cheery falsetto, matching Charlotte's intonations with an almost uncomfortable accuracy. Caleb was making a concerned effort to stifle his laughter, but wasn't doing a very good job of it. Tabitha's giggles ended in a shriek, however, as a large handful of icy water caught her in the face. After a moment of shocked spluttering, she finally regained control of her voice. "_That_ was immature!"

Ben scoffed. "Because you're the essence of maturity," he said, tossing her a blanket nonetheless, which she accepted a bit too eagerly. The wool was rough against her face as she wrung a few locks of sodden black hair in the cloth, but it was warm, and she left the blanket draped over her head like a mantilla as a breeze ghosted over the water.

"You're making a mistake," she said finally, gaze landing somewhere by her leg as she loosened her hair with her fingertips. "With Miss Adams, I mean. Getting her involved."

Ben's frown had deepened at the mention of Charlotte, but Caleb was already speaking by the time he'd opened his mouth. "Perhaps we made a mistake gettin' _you_ involved," the boatman retorted, and Tabitha snorted.

"Yes, because you gave me _so_ many opportunities to reconsider," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "She's not suitable for this sort of... undertaking. It would be best to leave her to her finery. I promise you, a woman such as she has no business being brought into these affairs."

"And yet, here _you_ are," Caleb replied.

"And yet, here I am," she agreed. "Can you honestly see no difference between myself and Charlotte Adams?"

Caleb made a sound in the back of his throat that, to Tabitha, came across as a toss-up between amusement and exasperation. "Goin' beyond looks, for starters," he began, "Yeah, I do. An' I'll tell you right now, Charlotte's a whole lot more useful that you've been."

"She's done nothing but propose an information drop signal!" Tabitha shot back. "Planning drops, writing letters, avoiding meets? Mr. Woodhull may think he's protecting her, but she is just as guilty as he is, and just as likely to swing for it. I know it, and so do the two of you." She paused for breath, and glanced at each man in turn. "What do you think she'll do when she arrives at the same conclusion? You think she'll stick around? Like you said, _Lieutenant_, Miss Adams is no fool. When the reality of her situation truly sinks in, do you think she'll wait around for the Redcoats to find her? She will run. She will go back to Virginia, and she would be wise to do so."

"You don't know her," Caleb said.

"An' neither d'you!" Tabitha's breath clouded in front of her as she continued, growing louder with every word. "How long since ye've seen 'er last? And before tha'? Have ya e'er set foot'n Virginia, _Lieutenant?_"

By this point, Ben had had more than his fill of the two lieutenants' bickering. "That's enough from the both of you," he snapped. "I think it's safe to assume that none of us have the pleasure of knowing Miss Adams as well as we would like. Now, bearing that in mind, perhaps it would be prudent for us to withhold judgment until we have a clearer idea of her true character."

Tabitha's mouth hung open as she rounded on Ben, who simply gave her what she had come to call The Look; head cocked to the side, face tilted slightly downwards, one eyebrow raised, and eyes locked unblinkingly with hers. "What the fuck did ya bring me along fer, then?" she exclaimed. "Ya asked me t' tell ya if I saw a '_glaring flaw'_ in Miss Adams. An' here I am, tellin' ya she's not suited fer this sort of work. Why ask if ye're just gonna disregard what I have ta say?"

"I had assumed she would be a different sort of woman," Ben replied. "Had I known she would be as open and forthcoming as—"

"Don' patronize me, Tallmadge!" Tabitha slammed her hand against the mast. "Ya took one look inta those pretty brown eyes, and ya ne'er once looked away. She smiles an' curtseys and calls ya _'Captain'!_ Don' try an' tell me she's open an' forthcoming. Unlike you, I was watchin', an' there is_nothin'_ open or simple abou' that woman. An if ya hadn' been so smitten, ye'd've noticed."

Whether Ben was at a loss for words or simply choosing not to reply, Tabitha wasn't sure. But as she sank back down into the bottom of the boat, Caleb said bluntly, "You're biased."

She tugged the blanket from her head. Her dark hair was a mess beyond fixing for the time being, but at least it was dry. "How so?" she muttered, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders instead.

"Well, if you're jealous of another woman getting Benny's attention, jumpin' to conclusions about her isn' the way to go. Just my opinion..." He trailed off with a shrug.

"Is that really what this is about?" Tabitha asked incredulously. "You think I still harbor feelings for him?" She jerked her head in Ben's direction, and he found himself suddenly and inexplicably fascinated by a small stick floating on the surface of the water.

"Not quite," Caleb replied. "Your brother dies, and ya just _happen_ to show up in our regiment to be close to the only man who can help ya keep your family's land." Ben glanced up briefly from the floating stick, then his eyes flickered back, back stiff. "Bit convenient, wouldn't ya say?"

"I don't require his help to keep my farm." Tabitha's voice was much lighter than even she had expected, and for a moment, she felt like laughing. "The deed is in Aaron's name, and I walk in his shoes. It would be a simple matter to sign the deed to myself, or to Father Michael for safeguarding. So long as I remain unmarried, the property is mine. And should that be contested for any reason, the farm would instead be incorporated into the church, where Father Michael would allow me to live out my days." Her eyes locked with Caleb's. "Alone, and in peace."

"Alright," Caleb said after a pause. "Then what're you doin' here? Sign the farm over to yourself and be done with it."

"I still need money, _Lieutenant_," Tabitha replied, eyes locking once again on the moon as she felt a wave of queasiness pass over her. "Besides, it's like Tallmadge says: A war is where I belong."

"Couldn't agree with him more."

Ben continued to stare out across the water, and Tabitha knew he was no longer listening. She was no navigator, but she was fairly certain the distant shoreline his eyes had locked on was where the last flicker of candlelight from Miss Adams' window had vanished into the night. The faintest streaks of pink were beginning to show on the eastern horizon, and with a sigh of defeat, she pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders and pulled her knees to her chest. If she was lucky, she could maybe squeeze in an hour or two of sleep. If she was luckier, she would wake up still in the boat, and not in the water.


	11. Requiem

An icy gust of wind curled itself around Tabitha's legs and midsection as she mounted the hill, not three steps behind Caleb and Ben. The two had been chatting on and off since late morning, but the chill in the air seemed to have frozen their conversation as much as it had Tabitha's fingertips. Dark clouds were gathered in the distance—almost black against the already grey sky—and she silently prayed they weren't bringing snow. Regardless of how much she may have deserved it, she hadn't been properly warm since Ben splashed her face the night before.'

Her dark hair whipped about her face as she turned to glance over her shoulder. Nothing but trees and hills and dead grass as far as the eye could see. No birds sang in the mid-morning chill, and the howling wind rendered the party's footsteps virtually silent. Ideal weather in Tabitha's eyes on almost any day; but now, for reasons that eluded her, the sight of the landscape did little to calm her nerves. If anything, it was exacerbating them.

"Are we very far from camp?" she called to Caleb, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her breeches. "Those clouds look dark. Perhaps we should find shelter?"

Caleb snorted. "Not far now, molly," he said simply.

Tabitha frowned and glanced back over her shoulder. Something about the landscape was setting her hair on end, and it wasn't the chill. With the wind blowing as it was, discerning the rustling brush as being the result of nature, man, or beast was near impossible.

The three paused briefly at the top of the hill, and Tabitha took the moment to do a quick survey of the surrounding scenery. There were a few dense copses of trees dotting the landscape, and a small creek—long since frozen over—winding through the frosted grass. All in all, not many places for an enemy to hide, unless he came in ridiculously small numbers. _Like us,_ she thought humorlessly. She had half-turned on her heel to follow Caleb and Ben once more when she saw it. A flash of red out the corner of her eye.

"Brewster!" she hissed, the urgency in her voice grabbing both men's attention. "In the trees, by the water. There's a man hiding."

Caleb squinted as he followed Tabitha's outstretched finger. For a moment, the land was still. But then the bushes rustled, and for the briefest of moments, a boot and a corner of red peeked out from the scrub. "Well, would you take a look at that?"

Tabitha glanced sidelong at Ben, knowing the call was his, but doubtful as to whether or not it would be a decision she would agree with. Ben's eyes locked with hers momentarily, and he sighed. "Try not to kill him, Tabitha," he said in resignation.

Interpreting his words as her permission, Tabitha drew her pistol and took off running down the hill, never slowing even as her gait altered between leaps and stumbles and slews as she haphazardly dodged the rocks and fallen branches littering her path. She let her gathered momentum carry her into a sprint as she reached the bottom of the slope, and was distantly aware of the fleet footfalls of the men behind her. Directly ahead, not thirty yards away, the scout—definitely British—had seen her, and made a hasty grab for his pistol.

Tabitha was faster. There was a resounding _crakk_ as her pistol discharged, briefly obscuring her vision in a haze of smoke. A shrill cry pierced the frigid air, and she didn't even bother to slow her pace—opting instead to slide along the frozen grass, directly into the young man whose torn breeches were rapidly adopting a crimson hue to rival his coat. Both lay sprawled on their backs for a second, the soldier's teeth clamped sharply onto his bottom lip in a desperate attempt to stifle his whimpers. Tabitha quickly turned her hips, legs following moments after as she swung herself back to standing. Looming over the wounded man, she was quietly stunned at how young he looked. Likely around fourteen, she supposed, but possibly older. Pain had a way of making the biggest men look young and fearful.

"Christ, molly, someone light your arse on fire?"

"You're welcome," she replied stiffly, then coughed, feeling the cold in her lungs as she holstered her pistol.

Ben shouldered past her with a level glare, and for a moment, Tabitha thought she could see the pulse pounding in his throat. He knelt next to the young redcoat, whispering brief reassurances that, to Tabitha, sounded better suited for a horse than a boy. But it attained the desired effect, and the boy stopped struggling. "What's your name?" he asked calmly.

The boy winced as he struggled to sit up, perhaps to save one shred of dignity in the eyes of the enemy. "S-Sutton," he stammered, then gulped and tried again. "Private Sutton. And that's my brother, Willie." He nodded in the direction of the brush where another boy lay, half-obscured by the sticks and leaves piled over his shivering form.

"My name is Captain Tallmadge," Ben said in that damnably soothing tone. "These are Lieutenants Brewster and McKenna. May I ask what you and Willie are doing so far from your regiment, Private?"

Tabitha scoffed. "Should be obvious."

Ben didn't even bother turning around. "If 'Private McKenna' sounds better to you, than by all means, keep talking." Tabitha scowled, and Ben continued. "Where is your regiment, Private Sutton?"

"I-I don't know, Captain," Sutton replied, voice punctuated by small, breathy gasps. "We was out on patrol. Nothin' too important for lads like us. But when we came back…"

"Yes?" Caleb prompted, and Sutton shot him an exasperated look.

"Well, they was gone, wasn't they?" he shot back. "Up an' left us. An' Willie's hurt his leg. Can't walk a step."

Tabitha approached the brush as quietly as she could. Willie had certainly hurt his leg, she realized, as she nudged a few of the sticks and a sturdy-looking branch aside with the toe of her boot. Broken in multiple places, by the looks of it, but it was the pallor of his skin and the blue tinge to his lips and hands that were a more immediate cause for concern. The rise and fall of the boy's chest was barely discernable, and it was with a brief pang to her gut that Tabitha realized he was dying. The blue on his lips wasn't the only color out of place on Willie, however, and Tabitha's dark brows furrowed as she brushed a finger against the cloth of his coat.

"How long have you and Willie been out here?" Ben asked.

Sutton glanced briefly at his bleeding leg, then back at Ben. "Night before last," he muttered.

"_Béal ónna_," Tabitha said roughly, twigs snapping beneath her boots as she made to rejoin the group. "You can't get frostbite like that after two nights, even in this chill!"

"'M not lying!" Sutton exclaimed, struggling to face Tabitha despite the pain shooting through his leg. "An' you stay away from Willie, ya hear?"

"Why?" she retorted, straightening to her full, towering height as she approached the young soldier, glowering down at him. "Afraid I might notice something… off?"

Caleb clapped a hand to Ben's shoulder before moving to join Tabitha. "What's off, molly?" he muttered, and Tabitha pointed at the brush.

Sutton's face paled visibly, and this time, it wasn't from the pain. "I said, keep your bloody hands offa him!" he shouted, staining the grass with smears of blood as he struggled to reach the other man. "He's hurt! Please! I'm taking care a' him!"

Ben grasped Sutton's arms as Tabitha kept his leg still. Caleb winced as he peered into the bushes. "Oh, he don't look too good," he said, half-turning towards Ben. "Leg's all skewy, and he looks frozen through."

"Notice anything else?" Tabitha asked loudly, redoubling her efforts in keeping Sutton still as he gave a sudden thrash against Ben's grip.

Caleb brushed more of the leaves from Willie's limp form and paused, glancing up to catch Tabitha's knowing stare. The red coat they'd initially assumed to be of British issue now revealed, upon closer scrutiny, additional panels of yellow crossed with what had once been white. "First Pennsylvania," Caleb said, more to himself than to Ben, who called back for clarification. "I said the lad's First Pennsylvania!" he repeated, louder. "He's one of ours!"

Ben's lips parted briefly, and silently formed the word 'ours'. Sutton gave an almighty jerk, and Ben only just managed to keep hold of him and keep his balance. "How bad is he?" he asked, giving Sutton a firm shove back to the ground. "Don't you move, Private," he added, voice an octave lower than before, as he went to join Caleb beside the virtually lifeless soldier.

"It's not good," Caleb replied with a shrug as Ben crouched down next to him. "Nearly frozen through by the looks of 'im."

Ben cupped his hand along the boy's jaw. The graying skin beneath his fingers was ice, and other than the occasional, infinitesimal rise and fall of his chest, there was no sign of life. "He's so cold," Ben muttered. "Caleb, give me your coat," he added, making to remove his own as well. "We have to warm him. Try and get something underneath him, but mind his leg. Caleb?" Caleb hadn't moved. "Caleb!" Ben repeated, a bit more urgently.

"Benny," Caleb began hesitantly, and Ben _knew._

"He's dying." Tabitha's voice echoed the words in Ben's head. "It's too late."

"He's not!" came the incensed shout from Private Sutton. His hands scrambled for purchase on a boulder beside him, grimacing through the pain in his leg as he attempted to stand. "He'll be fine! Just needs to keep offa his leg, is all!"

Tabitha had never considered Ben frightening. He had a benevolent look about him, even when angered; something she thought detrimental to the authority of a Dragoon Captain. A good leader needed to command the respect of his men, and could hardly do so without instilling a mite of intimidation. But the man before her had no semblance of kindness on his face as he stood, leaving his blue coat draped over the frozen soldier like a shroud. His mouth was twisted in a wry grimace, and his eyes seemed to flash in the mid-morning sun as he spoke in a voice she had only heard once before—the night he'd nearly choked the breath out of her. "I told you not to move," he growled, fingers resting against the wooden grip of his pistol. "I won't tell you again."

"The chill's gotten to him," Tabitha continued, silently marveling at the terrified expression on Sutton's young face. And with the marvel came a feeling she'd never in her life expected to associate with Benjamin Tallmadge: Respect. "He's barely breathing, and I doubt he'll wake. And with that leg of his, any movement would likely kill him faster."

Ben frowned, mind racing. "If we built a fire… got him warm?"

"Can't," Caleb interrupted, one hand shielding his eyes as he glanced skyward. "Molly was right about those clouds. Storm's coming, Benny. We can't stay out here in the open like this."

"And we can't move him."

Under normal circumstances, Tabitha would have berated the men for stalling on what they all knew needed to be done, tragic though it was. But she held her tongue, opting instead to retrieve Sutton's pistol, which lay forgotten alongside a crowberry bush just out of arm's reach. She doubted Private Sutton would have any further need of it.

Ben had rounded on Sutton again, face set in grim determination. "Who is that man in the brush, Private?" he asked.

Sutton looked honestly confused. "Told ya, he's my brother," he said. "We was—"

"He is _**not**_ your brother!" Ben interrupted, loud enough that Tabitha glanced up from the ground in surprise as she slipped the discarded pistol into her coat. "He is a Sergeant of the First Pennsylvania Battalion!"

"He's _NOT!_" Sutton's voice was breathy from pain, but forceful nonetheless. "His name is William Henry Sutton! Ya think I can't recognize my own brother?" His eyes were bright. Pleading.

"How did he injure his leg?"

For a moment, Sutton's gaze fell from Ben to the blood-smeared grass splayed across his wounded leg. "He kept trying to run," he whispered. "My own bloody brother! I couldn't loose 'im again. So I _made_ 'im stay with me."

Ben was silent, and shook his head in disbelief. Not that Tabitha could blame him after such an admission, however, and she paused as she walked behind him. "Don't trouble yourself too much," she said in what she hoped came across as a calm, reassuring voice. "He's raving. Nothing anyone can do about that." When he didn't reply, she continued walking to where the other soldier lay. Ben's startlingly blue coat still lay draped across the man's rigid frame from chin to waist, and for a second, she was reluctant to move it.

Caleb seemed to sense her hesitation, however, and muttered, "Don't think Benny'll be too pleased to have a hole in his coat when that storm gets here."

With a derisive snort, Tabitha reached down to slide the blanket off the Sergeant's body and tossed it aside into the bush. "Miss Adams will have to teach him some plain-work then, won't she?" She drew the pistol from her coat and cocked the hammer, pausing for a second longer than necessary as she aimed at the man's heart. Though he wasn't even awake to feel it, if there was the slightest chance that a clean shot would make a difference to him, Tabitha chose to take it. The Sergeant had suffered enough. "_Requiem Aeternam dona eis, Domine_," she whispered, "_et lux perpetua luceat eis_."

She pulled the trigger.

The focused explosion seemed infinitely louder than the one she'd fired earlier, and a high-pitched ringing echoed through her ears. The only sound louder was Private Sutton, whose anguished howls filled the air—horrified, guttural shrieks more befitting a wounded animal than a human. His hands flew to his face; grasping, clawing, slipping occasionally in the slick of tears and snot smeared liberally across the angry red welts left behind. Ben turned his head slightly, glancing sidelong at Tabitha, who stared back and said nothing. In silence, Caleb retrieved Ben's coat from where it lay before rejoining the two men near the edge of the brush.

"You—killed—him!" Sutton moaned, breaths coming sharp and fast as he collapsed into the dirt. Coughs wracked his body, and blood began seeping fresh from his leg. Occasionally, his pitiful gasps were punctuated with the word 'Willie' and, at once point, "Mama".

Tabitha had heard enough. Ben and Caleb were preoccupied with their conversation—no doubt concerning Private Sutton and what was to be done with him—and she took her opportunity. The wind still whistled across the plain, and this time, she used it to her advantage as she stalked through the frosted grass to where Sutton lay weeping. Absorbed as he was in his distress, he didn't notice as she withdrew her dagger from its sheath until her hand wound itself in his hair and wrenched his head back to expose his throat.

"Tabitha, _no!_" Ben shouted, but it was too late. With a sharp twist of her wrist, the blade tore through skin and sinew alike, leaving a gaping slash stretching nearly ear to ear. Hot blood poured over her hand, and Caleb took a half-step back as several streams of red arced from the wound. The torn flaps quivered as Sutton instinctively attempted to draw breath, but all he managed was a gurgling cough. Blood pooled in the spaces between his teeth, mixing with spittle until it dribbled down his chin from the corners of his mouth.

She gave a small push, and Sutton fell forward, lifeless, onto the ground in a slowly-expanding pool of red; eyes open and unseeing. "Why did you do that?" Ben's voice was a forced calm as he strode purposefully towards her, and she instinctively took a step back.

"Because you wouldn't," she replied. "He needed to be put down. He's a lunatic."

Something in Ben's demeanor had changed, and Tabitha's grip tightened on her dagger. "Let me make this clear to you," he said lowly, standing far too close for comfort. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, and she tilted her head back slightly to look him dead in the eyes. "I am your Captain. You will do _nothing_ unless I order it. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she answered.

"That's good to hear." He held her gaze for a moment before turning away. Tabitha was suddenly aware of the pulse pounding in her throat, and her eyes narrowed.

"An' what'll ya have me do if my _Captain_ doesn' have the _liathroidí_ ta give an order?" she called to him.

Ben glared back at her, then said a bit louder than necessary, "Caleb, if Tabitha opens her mouth again, knock her out."

Caleb smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. "My pleasure."


	12. Implications

Tabitha's eyelids were heavy as she stared at the three sentences she'd managed to get on paper before her mind went blank. Her body ached for sleep after returning from Setauket, and the heavy warmth of the blanket draped over her shoulders wasn't helping her focus.

With a childish groan that would have earned her a stern reprimand when she was younger, she straightened her back slightly before leaning over the paper again, nibbling on the end of her quill as she tried to think of something to add to the report. The bitter taste of ink flooded her mouth seconds before she realized what she was doing, and she spat liberally onto the ground and fumbled for the mug of warm water on the desk. She took a long swig, and swished the lukewarm liquid around her cheeks and between her teeth before spitting it out as well.

Tabitha threw her quill down in exasperation. Reports were one thing, but how anyone could come up with two pages of words essentially saying "We didn't find anything" was beyond her. A waste of paper, in her opinion. Three sentences were more than enough, and if General Scott had an issue with it, she could simply direct him to Ben and Caleb. Besides, the whole idea had been theirs, and she really didn't see why she had to be the only one drafting up the report.

She stifled a brief wave of irritation as she folded the paper in thirds. The ink had had more than enough time to dry in the hour she'd spent staring blankly at the grain of the paper, and she stuffed the page unceremoniously into her pocket. As she stood, stretching, the blanket slid from her narrow shoulders into a pool of wool on the ground. She couldn't be to be arsed to pick it up, however, and after she snuffed the candle, she simply kicked it aside before ducking out of her tent into the mid-afternoon chill.

General Scott's tent was on the opposite side of the encampment, and Tabitha scurried from once campfire to the next, pausing briefly to warm her hands as she went, and then pausing a minute longer to lift a stick of hand-rolled tobacco from a young corporal. She passed it through the flames momentarily, then popped the end in her mouth as she hurried to the next fire.

The smoke billowed past her lips, much thicker than usual from the cold air. She huddled closer to the flames as she took another large drag from the small cylinder and, having had enough, offered it to an older-looking man seated beside her, who accepted it with a small nod of thanks.

Scott's tent was nearby, and she slipped her hands into her pockets as she jogged, breath clouding in front of her. The chill had rendered her cheeks a wind-burned red, and she knocked on the tent post a bit more forcefully than she had intended.

"Yes?" came the slightly muffled, brusque voice, and Tabitha shuffled inside to the welcome warmth. "Ah, Lieutenant. Do you have your report for me?"

Tabitha passed him the slightly crumpled paper, and inched forward towards the center of the tent. Scott glanced at the hastily-scrawled words, then looked back up at Tabitha. "'Nothing to be found'?" he quoted. "Is that all?"

"You'll forgive my brevity, General," she said, "but I didn't want to waste your time, as Lieutenant Brewster and Captain Tallmadge seem to believe I have done with theirs." There was a clear terseness in her utterance of the men's names, which was not lost on the General.

"It's not a problem, Lieutenant," Scott said, setting the paper amongst the multitude of reports on his desk. "Please, sit down." Tabitha did as she was beckoned, and Scott continued. "You must not allow yourself to be discouraged. I admire your dedication in pursuing this matter, even though it proved to be false." Tabitha nodded, but remained silent. "This is why we send out scouts, McKenna. We hear plenty of troubling news, but it's vital that we confirm it before acting."

"Yes, sir."

"Which is why I'm very impressed," he said, passing her a cup of ale, which she accepted gratefully. "You were not quick to suggest we act on your intelligence—only that we investigate it further. Nor did you dismiss it until you were certain of its inaccuracy."

"Thank you, General," she said between sips. "And just to clarify, I am profoundly relieved that my intelligence was false. My distaste lies with Brewster and Tallmadge. They're quite smug when they're correct."

"Indeed they are," Scott muttered, before draining his cup. "I wonder, Lieutenant, how you would feel about assuming more responsibility in this unit."

Tabitha's eyes widened a fraction as she guessed at what Scott was insinuating. "How do you mean, General?" she asked, keeping her voice as even as she could.

"I'm going to be honest with you, McKenna, and I don't wish to hear what I am about to say repeated."

"Of course, sir."

General Scott leaned slightly forward in his chair. "Tallmadge and Brewster are fine men. They are good soldiers and loyal to the cause. However." He paused briefly, making certain he had Tabitha's full attention. "Some of their recent actions have led me to question their position as officers. I'm sure you've heard Captain Tallmadge will be facing court-martial, and once he's brought up on charges, I will need new officers to take his place." Tabitha's mouth hung open a fraction as he spoke. "Preferably ones who have my confidence."

"Sir, are you… implying that—"

"I wish to have you promoted, Mr. McKenna," he answered. "And I assume you would be comfortable with the responsibilities such a promotion entails."

"I have no trouble making the difficult decisions, as you know, General," she replied. "But I would be lying if I said I am wholly prepared for the responsibilities you mentioned. And with Tallmadge and Brewster—"

Scott shook his head as he refilled his cup. "You would not answer to them," he said. "Only to myself and officers I designate. But I do require something from you." Tabitha's heart pounded, and she instinctively glanced over her shoulder, somehow fearful that Ben or Caleb would overhear their exchange.

"What do you need from me, General?"

Scott seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Tabitha as he stared at the tent flap behind her. "Captain Tallmadge is very adamant about trusting the word of his informant on Long Island, despite being unable to offer reasons for anyone else to do so." Tabitha felt a chill growing in the pit of her stomach as Scott continued. "He recently provided me with information about Hessian mercenaries in Trenton. If this is indeed true, it must be forwarded to General Washington. However, if it is false, then the results could be disastrous. You understand the importance of confirming reports, Mr. McKenna."

Tabitha nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"I need to know the name of Captain Tallmadge's man in Setauket," he said, "And I'm trusting you will be able to get it."

"I…" Tabitha began, then cleared her throat and continued, stronger: "I am not a confidant of Captain Tallmadge," she said. "He has admitted to distrusting me, and rarely speaks openly when I am present."

"The promotion would come with a substantial pay raise," Scott said, as though Tabitha hadn't spoken. "I assume you have plans for the future? A wife? Children to provide for?"

Tabitha paused, considering. "I have no intended, nor had I thought that far to the future, sir. I've long since resigned myself to the likelihood that I may not survive this war," she said. "However… I have a sister." Scott nodded, seemingly interested, but she couldn't be certain. "Her husband died in a fishing accident three months past. She has an infant son, and I promised to provide for them both."

"He'll be a strong lad, like his uncle," Scott said approvingly, and Tabitha felt a small surge of pride. "You'll consider my offer?"

Tabitha nodded, and felt sick doing so. But the thought of the small child in Baltimore was enough to stifle her unease for the moment. "I will do what I can, sir."

"Excellent!" Scott rose to his feet, and Tabitha hurriedly did the same. "Good afternoon, Mr. McKenna. I expect to hear from you soon."

"Yes sir," she said, and with a polite incline of her head, retreated back through the tent flap into the winter chill. The temperature had dropped substantially, but the conversation had left her temporarily numb, and she trudged back to her tent, heedless of the wind whistling in her ears.

* * *

Ben's tent always seemed to be cold, no matter what he did to insulate it. In the end, he attributed it to the constant comings and goings of various personnel, all bringing more items for him to look over, or with questions he often had to refrain from rolling his eyes while answering. But today, the tent was warm, and he and Caleb sat immersed in a game of draughts as they talked.

"…infuriating, insolent, _vicious_—your move. The way she cut his throat, Caleb, I…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

Caleb frowned at the board, finally settling on a move. "She's a fine soldier, I'll say that much," he muttered. "Not a lot in the way of obedience, but that's a woman fer ya."

"But her opinion of Miss Adams," Ben pressed. "Could she have been right? How well do you really know her?"

Caleb sighed as he looked up from the board. "Well enough, Tall-Boy," he said. "She migh' be gettin' in a bit over her head, but believe me, she can handle it."

Ben nudged one of the pieces halfheartedly with the tip of his finger before slouching in his chair. "It feels wrong. Putting a woman in this sort of position, I mean. If something were to happen to her…"

"How can ya be worried about her bein' a woman after dealin' with Molly?" Caleb interjected.

"You can't honestly be comparing Charlotte to Tabitha," Ben said with a raise of his eyebrows. "I've come to doubt that Tabitha is even _human_."

"Ya've 'come to doubt'?" Caleb repeated, bemused. "She's a demon, plain an' simple. A demon with very shapely legs—"

"Caleb…"

"But a demon's a demon," Caleb concluded with a laugh, moving his piece forward. "But the Devil _is_a master of temptation; what can I tell ya?"

Ben gave Caleb an exasperated glare. "King me."

"You're cheatin'."

Ben smirked. "Am I?"

Caleb grumbled as he searched for another move. "Ya know what the problem is, don't ya?" he said after a brief silence. "She's too familiar with you. Might be why she thinks she doesn' have to listen to yer orders." Ben snorted softly, resting his head in one of his hands as he stared at the board. "She won' try that_liathroidí_shite with me, Benny, I'll tell ya that now."

"What did that word even mean?" Ben asked suddenly, recalling his confusion from earlier. "I doubt it was polite, whatever it was."

"Oh, it wasn't," Caleb said with a grin. "Never heard a woman talk like that before."

"Keep a close eye on her," Ben warned. "I mean it. And she's not going back to Setauket."

Caleb laughed. "Ya think I'm stupid, Benny?" he said. "All we need is Woody pullin his butter knife on 'er. It'd be the last thing he'd ever do. King me."

Ben swore under his breath s he stared at the board again. "There's no _way_…"

"Deal with it."


	13. Safe

The cry was piercing in the air of the dark December night, and for a moment, Tabitha felt disconnected; knowing that this forest—wherever it was—was an illusion at best. The immense variety of white oak and hickory blended with the evergreens was a sight she hadn't seen since her final days in Baltimore, where Father Michael had said mass on the outskirts of town before she could depart. The forest floor was littered with pine needles and acorns, and the scent of turpentine filled the air as she walked, needles crushing beneath the timber heels of her otherwise delicate slippers.

Slippers…?

She glanced at her feet, frowning. The delicate lace and silk encasing them sent a spark of fear shooting through her chest, and she hastily kicked them off, scooping them from the ground and hurling them into the distant brush. Heart pounding, she glanced around, silently praying no one from the unit had seen her. Feeling satisfied, she set off towards what she could only hope was the encampment. There were no stars, no moon; no viable way to discern her position in the dark aside from the gut feeling that her destination lay somewhere ahead.

The pain of pine needles and errant sticks and stones digging into her feet was nothing compared to the cold. Perhaps her lower extremities had gone numb; a simple explanation as to why she could scarcely feel the undergrowth scratching welts across her bare calves and the jagged pebbles wedged between her toes. But there was something ahead—she was sure of it. Never once did she think to question what it was, until the cry from before rang out again.

This time, she recognized it. A baby. A newborn, judging by the pitch of the shriek, and her heart pounded in her throat. "Is someone out there?" she called, breath fogging in front of her as her voice echoed in the dark. "Hello?"

The wailing grew louder—from her left, she realized—and she took off running. Branches and leaves whipped across her face, and she held her arms up slightly to shield herself. The undergrowth grew denser, and she resorted to small leaps in some places, feeling the vague, distant sensation of rough foliage tearing gashes in her feet as though they belonged to someone else entirely. All that mattered was the screaming child that she just didn't seem to be getting any closer to.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a small flicker of light. Almost like that of a candle, but somewhat brighter. The millisecond she took to glance after it was all it took for her foot to finally catch on a particularly sturdy root, and she fell sprawling to the forest floor. Wincing at the stinging in her knees and palms, she gingerly picked herself up and hurriedly looked around her. The light, if it had even truly been there, was nowhere to be seen.

The child cried out in the distance, more urgently than before, and Tabitha set off again, limping slightly as she ran. Her breath came in short, clouded bursts, and the freezing air burned in her lungs as she skidded to a halt at the edge of a dark ravine, one hand clutching on a low-hanging branch for support. Seeing no way down, she doubled over slightly, her free hand pressed on her knee as she tried to catch her breath. Still, the child cried, and she cursed as she straightened up and jogged parallel to the ditch, searching for some way down.

When she saw the light again, she was faster. There was definitely someone in the trees; clearly male, face obscured in the darkness, and just barely out of her reach. "Who are you?" she shouted, turning to follow the man instead. But as soon as she blinked, he was gone. "_Damnú air!_" she growled, turning back to the ravine, and the sound of the screaming infant.

The man holding the light had returned. Though she couldn't see him, Tabitha felt his hot breath on her neck mere moments before a pair of large, open palms collided with her shoulders, sending her tumbling into the darkness with an undignified shriek. Her hands scrambled for purchase as she slid down the embankment, until she finally came to an abrupt, crashing stop at the bottom—but not before her head collided with a sickening _crunch_ against a jutting rock.

Dazed and disoriented, she lay still, the canopy of trees above her blurry as they spun, and the dull pounding of her pulse echoing through her throbbing head. Time seemed relative as she faded in and out of consciousness, and she was certain the first hints of dawn should have been visible by now. But the dark, moonless night showed no sign of concluding anytime in the foreseeable future. Nor did the desperate screaming of the child in the distance, and Tabitha groaned helplessly; her dirty, bloody hands clutching furiously at the soil beneath her.

Once the worst of the vertigo had passed, she rolled to her side and tried to stand, but was overcome by a sudden bout of nausea. Quickly dropping back to her knees, she doubled over and, with a lurch of her stomach, felt what little she'd eaten that day burning at the back of her throat before splattering in a torrent on the freezing ground in front of her. Her eyes watered and her nose ran, and every heave brought up more bile and a more intense pounding in the back of her skull. Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, she felt the worst pass, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her shaking hand as she tried to catch her breath.

She was aware of movement in front of her again, and looked up to see an oddly familiar hand offered out to her, which she hesitantly accepted. The man hoisted her to her feet, and she leaned against his strong frame as she tried desperately to regain her balance. "_An bhfuil tú ceart go leor, a Thaibít?_" the man asked, and Tabitha froze.

Heedless of the white-hot pain in the back of her head, she spun around to face the man, and tears welled up in her eyes almost instantaneously, dripping down her filthy cheeks before she could even think to stop them. "_An bhfuil sé i ndáiríre tú?_" she breathed, reaching out for the suddenly familiar face all too close to hears. "Aaron?"

There was no doubt in her mind. Those same startling green eyes both twins shared with their father, the dark fringe of brown hair that looked black on all but the brightest days, the tanned, almost gold skin they were told he'd inherited from their mother… That familiar mouth quirked in a half-smile, and his broad thumbs swiped beneath her eyes, taking her tears with them. "I miss you so much, Aaron," she whispered, her fingers intertwining with his.

"I know," he said, finally pulling his sister into a tight embrace. "I've missed you too. More than you could know."

For a moment, Tabitha felt at peace. There was no night, no screaming child in the distance, no pain, no war tearing through her home. Only her brother, his warm embrace, and the sound of his breathing in her ears. Aaron was _here_, and wherever _here_ was, she couldn't bring herself to care. Had the Devil himself appeared to them at that very moment, she wouldn't have minded.

But still, something was wrong, and it took her a short while to figure out what it was. Her dark brows furrowed, and she pressed her ear closer to Aaron's chest. Her own pulse still pounded in the growing lump on her head, but she couldn't hear its echo in her brother, as she had before. Her eyes widened at the sudden realization, and she felt rather than heard Aaron's breaths grow increasingly labored. She pulled back abruptly, and had to stifle a scream that rapidly shifted into another wave of nausea.

Aaron's face was dark, his eyes wide and bulging as his hands clawed at the rope looped around his neck. His feet kicked feebly—when had he been hoisted from the ground?, she wondered—and the whites of his eyes were now spotted with bright red. She tried to scream, but like her brother, she felt choked and instead let out a strangled whimper as she desperately tried to reach the rope.

She was too late. No sooner had her fingers touched the rough hemp, Aaron's body gave an almighty lurch, and was still. Tabitha wrenched her hand back, clutching it to her chest as her brother's corpse swung slightly in the breeze. "No…" she groaned feebly. "No, no, no no no no!" There was another sound behind her, and she jumped as she whipped around, and felt the blood drain from her face. More men, all clad in the same uniform as Aaron, hanging limply in the trees surrounding her. A couple were still struggling, looking at her with the briefest glimmer of hope in their eyes, and Tabitha finally screamed.

She stumbled as she ran, but didn't stop. Half on her feet, half with her hands, she ran like a beast, tears flying from her eyes and saliva running heedlessly down the side of her mouth. She was sucking wind; her limbs burned and her chest was on fire, but every ounce of sinew in her body was alive and urging her to flee. And flee she did. The ground was no longer firm beneath her feet—it squelched and gave, and she didn't need to see to know it was soaked in blood. The coppery stick wafted up around her, soaking into her skin and clothing as she willed herself not to sick up again.

The collision wasn't entirely unexpected; in fact, she'd half-expected to collide with a tree nearly the moment she started running. But as she fell backwards, landing firmly on her bottom, she didn't know whether to be terrified or relieved as she beheld the towering form of Father Michael standing directly in front of her. "Father," she whimpered, struggling to stand, but unable to rise past her knees. "Help me. _Cabhrú liom_, Father, please…"

There was no expression in the priest's eyes, and Tabitha was briefly reminded of the paintings she'd seen depicting angels and saints, all of which she'd found strangely beautiful, yet frightening at the same time. Light seemed to burn around him as he raised his right hand, fingers bent in the sign of benediction as he traced the sign of the cross in front of him.

With each motion, Tabitha felt pain rip through her body; a long, wide gash vertically splitting both her lips and traveling down past her navel, to where a second was forming, slicing deep across her abdomen. The scream came deep from the core of her being, and her hands clutched at her stomach, panic rising as she felt the hot blood pouring from the gash. The heat only intensified as she felt the slick slide of her organs slipping through the mouth of the wound, somehow moving past her fingers one after the other no matter where she pushed. She could hear it again, clearer than ever: the pained shrieks of the child-_her_ child, she realized with a sickening jolt, as a tiny, bloody hand poked its way out through the tangled ropes of her intestines.

A final scream tore its way past her throat, and the world went dark.

* * *

She woke up screaming, thrashing wildly against the blankets twined too tight around her body, and sucked in a sharp breath as she fell to the floor. The words came unbidden to her lips as she prayed, "_Ave Maria, gratia plena; Dominus tecum."_ Her voice shook, and her throat felt raw. She wondered how long she'd been screaming. "_Sancta Maria, Mater Dei ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen._" Her fingers brushed against her forehead and shirt as she crossed herself and, breathing deep and shallow, she pressed a hand to her chest to still her pounding heart. Once she felt the panic slowly fade from her limbs, she reached for the candle stub discarded beneath her bed. With the flame burning steadily, she pressed it firmly into the holder, eyes flitting as she looked around her tent.

There was nothing out of the ordinary, and for the first time since receiving Aaron's letter, she felt truly and utterly alone.

On a whim, she pulled her coat over her shoulders and slid into her boots before extinguishing her candle and tucking it into her pouch. She peered outside her tent, wincing at the chill, and slipped out into the night. The fires burned low, and few men were still out—fortunately for her, none near enough to hear her hysterical shrieks. She couldn't be sure what pushed her in his direction, but minutes later found her tapping hesitantly on the post outside Caleb's tent. His voice called out, muffled by the flaps, and she stepped inside.

"Didn' expect ta see ya here, Molly," he said, glancing up briefly from the stone he was running along the blade of his axe. "Thought ya'd be sleepin'."

She didn't know what to say. All she could do was shift her feet uncomfortably, reveling in the simple fact that there was another living person next to her; that she _wasn't alone_. "May I… sit here awhile?" she managed finally, indicating the empty cot beside him.

Caleb stared at her suspiciously, and for a moment, she was sure he'd turn her away. "Ya look like hell," he said. Tabitha once again said nothing, and just stared at the bed hopefully. "Well, go on, then, 'm not stoppin ya," he finally agreed with a shrug.

"Thank you," she said, sitting on the rough blanket and allowing her eyes to follow the path of the stone in Caleb's hand. No further words were spoken and, as she gradually felt her eyelids grow heavy once again, she knew she was safe.

* * *

Gratuitous Irish Google!translations:

An bhfuil tú ceart go leor, a Thaibít? - Are you alright, Tabitha?  
An bhfuil sé i ndáiríre tú? - Is it really you?  
Cabhrú liom - Help me


	14. Nothing Personal

When Tabitha awoke the next morning, she felt momentarily disoriented. She had no memory of falling asleep, let alone of falling asleep anywhere near the odd-smelling—yet surprisingly warm—tent in which she found herself. Daylight peered through the edges of the tent flap, and she stretched luxuriously beneath the pile of blankets.

Then it hit her. Caleb's tent. That, and the realization that she must have fallen asleep sometime shortly after wandering in the night before. She didn't recall any conversation outside her request to sit with him awhile, and she flushed angrily as she kicked the blankets—which couldn't have been draped over her by anyone other than the whaler himself—to the floor.

Caleb was never going to let her live it down. She knew as soon as she emerged from the chilly (yet still warmer than her own) tent, he would be waiting nearby with an insufferable smirk and a right plethora of new material for his self-styled "witty banter" over breakfast. Though the likelihood of rousing anyone's suspicion with his jokes was miniscule, that didn't make his supposedly good-natured mocking any less annoying.

As she sat up, still fuming, she caught sight of the sharpening stone Caleb had been using the night before, along with the sealskin bag the whaler usually carried with him. Her breath caught in her chest as she glanced around the room, making sure she was alone, before hurrying over to where it lay. Part of her knew it was wrong, especially after Caleb had been gracious enough to share his tent without question. But she pushed that part down and she rifled through the bag, heart pounding as her fingers brushed against paper.

The letter was written in an elegant, flowing script that Tabitha could only assume belonged to Miss Adams. The contents were nothing truly noteworthy—a bit of rambling about a Major with an uncommon love for horses and an even greater love for her playing of the pianoforte—but two sentences halfway down the page stood out clearer than the rest:

"_I regret to inform you that I shall be unavailable until early January, as Aunt Rebecca has insisted I accompany her to York City for the duration of the month. But my dear cousin shall remain at your disposal until my return, upon which I shall regale you with the many stories I hope to hear once the wine begins to flow."_

While telling Scott that this "dear cousin's" name was, in fact, Abraham would be much easier, she couldn't outright admit to having met the flighty young man without risking her promotion. Therefore, looking into this "Aunt Rebecca" would have to be enough for the General. It wasn't a betrayal, she reasoned, pulling out paper and a quill from another part of Caleb's bag. Not really, since she'd never actually been on their side to begin with. She'd been perfectly content with keeping to herself, and had Caleb seen fit to do the same, everyone could have just gone on with their lives.

Nor was it anything personal, she thought, as she quickly copied the letter in her own hasty scrawl. She hadn't joined the Continental Army to fight for freedom and kill the Lobsterbacks, though that _was_ an added bonus. The truth was far less glamorous, as she had partially revealed to Caleb on the boat back from Setauket: Money. Signing the farm over to herself would require a lawyer to draft up the papers, and lawyers were anything but cheap.

She tucked the letter and quill back into Caleb's bag as she blew on the ink shining wetly on the page. Once she was satisfied that the words wouldn't be completely illegible, she folded it into a small square and tucked it into her boot, until it was lodged securely between her calf and the leather. For a moment, she felt the guilt rising in her chest. Turning on Ben in such a way wouldn't bother her in the slightest, but Caleb was a different story, she realized, as the sleeve of the whaler's coat caught her eye from beneath the pile of blankets she'd thrown to the floor. The man barely knew her, and had every reason to hate her, yet he'd been surprisingly charitable in allowing her to share his tent at a moment's notice—and without any real explanation.

With an irritated sigh, she tugged the coat free and draped it across her arm and, after giving her own coat a sharp tug and running her fingers through the dark strands that had pulled loose from her braid in the night, ducked out through the tent flap into the midmorning chill. The sun seemed brighter than usual, and she squinted slightly as she peered across the clearing to the cookfires, and the men gathered around them. Scott's tent lay beyond them, and Tabitha found herself torn between presenting him with the letter immediately, or nabbing a bowlful of whatever the three sergeants at the next fire were cooking.

Her stomach gave a rumbling growl, thus settling the debate in her mind. Scott could wait. Her appetite, however, clearly could not.

"What's that you're cooking?" she said offhandedly, peering into the pot.

"Dunno, sir," one of the men said with a chuckle. "Bird of some sort. And some roots Johnny found."

The one called Johnny rolled his eyes. "I been tellin' ya, they're mushrooms, ya shite."

The other sergeant shrugged. "Tastes like shite, in any case," he muttered. "Have yerself a bowl, lieutenant, an' see what I mean."

Tabitha was only too happy to comply, hastily scooping out a helping and raising it to her lips before it could cool too much in the morning breeze. The soup wasn't half-bad, she thought, though she did tend to be less picky when her stomach was doing wolf impressions. She almost would have gone as far as to call it tasty, except for the sudden unidentifiable bit in her mouth. She stuck out her tongue, and winced as she pulled half a soggy feather from the tip.

"Did you pluck the bird yourself, then, Johnny?" she asked, flicking the feather in his direction. The two sergeants cackled gleefully, one elbowing a sullen-looking Johnny in the ribs as he drained what was left of his bowl.

"Here's to the ladies, then," he said, raising his bowl in a mock toast. "Would that I had my sister here to make us a proper meal."

Johnny gave a short laugh, and Tabitha snorted into her soup. "Define 'proper'," the other sergeant replied. "Coz, see, I've had your sister's cooking once, and I'd pick Johnny's stewed feathers any day."

The bowl caught the sergeant on the chin, and the two men quickly devolved into good-natured scuffling. Johnny, however, was doing his best to hide his glowing smile as he slurped up the last of his soup. Tabitha had made to copy him, and had half-drained her bowl when an echoing shout of "Molly!" rang out from somewhere to her left. She coughed in surprise, soup dribbling down her cheeks and chin as she turned to glare at the offender.

Caleb was waving her down from beside another fire, grin practically stretching ear-to-ear as she wiped the soup from her face. "Christ, Brewster!" she swore. "D'ya have ta shout, ya heathen?!" Without waiting for a reply, she got to her feet and raised his coat high enough for him to see, then held it threateningly over the fire. His grin dropped, replaced with a look of exasperated disbelief. She shook her head and draped the coat over her arm once more, giving a brief 'thank you' to the sergeants before trudging over to where Caleb sat languidly next to a somewhat larger fire.

"You dropped this," she said, tossing the coat into his lap a bit harder than necessary.

"Well, you were shiverin'," he replied, pulling the coat over his shoulders. "Aw, that's sweet. Ya kept it nice an' warm fer me."

"Shut up." Tabitha pulled her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees as she stared into the flames. A moment of silence passed before she softly added, "Thank you."

Caleb shrugged. "Don't thank me. I almost let ya freeze." Tabitha snorted, and continued staring into the fire. The camp was quieter than usual, but with the steady drop in temperature, it was hardly surprising. The few who had ventured outside that morning seemed more focused on keeping warm than on talking, and the random snatches of conversation that reached her ears were spoken in far more hushed tones than most mornings. One boy a few fires over was attempting to play a cheery tune on his fife, and Tabitha wasn't sure whether his numb fingers or lack of skill was to blame for the horrid sounds he was making.

"Billets are up in a month," she said casually, and Caleb's face hardened.

"So that's what the lads're talkin' about, is it?" he grumbled.

"Some," she said. "But it's just talk. Not like there's much else to talk _about_."

Caleb grimaced as the boy with the fife blew another sour note. "They could talk about shuttin' him up," he said with a pointed glare, and Tabitha rolled her eyes.

"Have you ever heard of the_ píob mhór_?" she asked with a small grin. When Caleb shook his head, she continued, "Irish warpipes. A set of pipes attached to a pouch you blow up with air. Back in Ireland, my grandfather was in the Battle of Aughrim. Absolute massacre, so it's good he wasn't fighting." She snorted softly and added, "He shouldn't have been there, really. Far too young. But he wanted to play those damn pipes. My father brought them along when he came to Maryland, and I remember him playing them for Aaron and I once."

"Can't say I've ever heard an instrument like that before," Caleb admitted with a grin.

Tabitha nodded. "You're damn lucky, too," she said emphatically. "Sounded like a dying goat." Caleb burst out laughing, and despite her surprise, Tabitha couldn't help grinning in return. "To be fair, my father didn't have an ear for music, but I imagine in the right hands, they must have sounded truly majestic."

"All's I can imagine is someone knockin' your grandfather upside the head, tryin' to get him to shut up," Caleb finally managed through his laughter. "Like that little clod over there," he added, pointing at the boy with the fife.

The music stopped, and Tabitha snickered. "Think he heard you," she whispered. There was a brief moment where both lieutenants tried to compose themselves, but one look at the other sent both into an uncontrollable fit of laughter that attracted several confused stares. The boy stormed off to his tent, and after a few long minutes, they finally started to calm down.

"You should help me with the boats today," Caleb said, and Tabitha looked up in surprise. "Nothin' you can't handle, I promise."

Tabitha arched an eyebrow. "Either you've forgotten I'm not fond of boats, or Ben's asked you to keep an eye on me," she reasoned.

"Or, third choice, I gotta lot of work to do, and your lazy arse doesn't. So how's bout lendin' me a hand, molly?"

After a moment's consideration, she nodded. The small square of paper seemed to press more intently into the skin of her calf, but she quickly pushed it to the back of her mind. Scott wasn't going anywhere, and it wasn't as though she'd been given a timeframe in the first place. "If you push me in the river, Brewster…" she began threateningly.

"Don't worry," Caleb said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "If I push you in, I'll haveta do all the work myself."

"Very reassuring," Tabitha grumbled, getting to her feet nonetheless. "Lead the way, Brewster."


	15. Resin

The boats were much larger than Tabitha had expected—certainly larger than the small dinghy the three of them had taken to Setauket. These were well over fifteen meters in length, sturdily built from oak and iron, and easily the most impressive watercraft she'd ever laid eyes on.

Caleb had already hopped aboard the nearest one, which rocked slightly and pulled against the rope keeping it tethered to a particularly thick elm as he grabbed a few bags he'd stashed inside, probably the night before. "Get a fire goin', wouldya molly?" he called, and Tabitha was snapped out of her momentary reverie.

"Are we going to burn them, then?" she asked with a smirk, crouching down to gather a few sticks regardless.

Caleb didn't bother to answer, and instead tossed a large bag in her direction. "We're patchin' the boats," he said simply, climbing back out with another bag in tow. "Guess Washington couldn't afford to send us new ones, so we'll just have to work with what we've got, won't we?"

Tabitha shrugged as she struck a match and dropped it into the small pile of twigs and grass. "Don't know what all this 'we' business is about," she replied. "I know next to nothing about boats."

"Well, that's why I'm gonna teach ya," Caleb said cheerily, rubbing his hands over the slowly-growing flames as Tabitha piled on more sticks. "Never know when it might be useful." Tabitha scoffed softly, and Caleb grinned. "Don' be like that, molly. You'll love it."

"_Chuala mé go roimh,_" she muttered, and Caleb stared down at her incredulously.

"Have ya, then?" he asked with a snort. "Well, good to know I won't be the first to disappoint ya."

Tabitha's mouth hung open slightly as she stared back. "You speak Irish?"

Caleb shrugged as he tugged open the bag and began rifling through its contents. "_Tá, beagán_," he replied, dropping several handfuls of what looked like rocks onto the ground beside him. "I worked with a few Irish whalers a couple years back. Couldn't help picking up a few words here and there." He paused as he looked up from the bag. "Gotta say, though, none of 'em had a mouth like yours."

"Coming from you, Brewster, I'll take that as a gracious compliment." Caleb laughed, loud enough to make her jump slightly before letting out a small snort of her own. "What are these rocks for, then?" she continued, plucking one of the discarded stones from the ground. Upon closer inspection, the texture was all wrong. The stone, or whatever it was, had scuffs and scratches across its surface, and felt softer, in a way, than any other stone she'd held before. A feeling she could almost liken to amber.

"Not rocks," Caleb confirmed, pulling two pots out and dropping them to the ground with a loud _clang_. "Resin. Since ya can't be home cookin' meals, I'll show ya how to cook up some pine pitch."

"I'm not afraid to light your eyebrows on fire, Brewster," Tabitha growled, lifting a smoldering stick out of the fire for emphasis. Caleb seemed wholly unimpressed by her threat, but chose not to comment.

"What I'll be havin' ya do," he continued, "is meltin' these down in the pot." He indicated the resin chunks as he dropped them into the taller pot, and Tabitha nodded her understanding. "This one here goes into the shorter one, and we'll be fillin' that up with water."

Tabitha tossed her handful of resin in with the rest. "Wouldn't it be quicker without the water?" she asked. "The whole river looks like it's nearly turned to ice."

"Well, ya _could_ do it without the water," Caleb said, "but I wouldn' recommend it. This catches fire, it won't be my eyebrows you'll have to worry about. I've seen the flames go up higher than a man's head once."

Tabitha eyed the pot doubtfully. "And what, exactly, do you plan on doing with this?" she asked. "Do you plan on setting fire to the boats?"

"Nah, just sealin' up a few cracks." He dropped the pot into her lap and grabbed the second, calling over his shoulder as he dipped it into the river, "Once it melts, you'll need a fistful of rabbit dung. And a coupla candles."

Tabitha wrinkled her nose slightly as he handed her the pot of water. "Why exactly do you need my help with this, Brewster?" she asked, setting the pots on the makeshift stove before taking a large step back.

"I don't," he admitted, climbing back into the boat with the second bag. "But I know Scott won't be makin' ya do anythin' too unpleasant, so—"

"—so you'd just like to see me suffer, is that it?" she interrupted. Her face was split with a mischievous grin, but inside, her heart was racing at the mention of the General. She could feel the folded paper in her boot pressing all too sharply against her leg, and she shifted her leg uncomfortably. It had only just occurred to her how unusual it was for Caleb to be without his bag, and how equally unlikely he was to leave such vital information laying about in his tent.

Perhaps he knew, she thought with a sudden twist of her gut. Maybe that was why he'd insisted on her joining him. The man was self-admittedly like a brother to Ben—Ben, who was facing court-martial—and childhood friends with both Abe and Miss Adams. All three of whom would be in trouble of varying degrees once Scott read the letter. And there was no way Caleb would allow that to happen.

Her eyes flickered momentarily to the icy water. All it would take was one plunge into the frigid depths. She was too far from camp to be heard, and she had told no one where she was going. One good plunge, and the next time anyone saw her would be when they pulled her frozen corpse from the river.

Caleb seemed to sense her discomfort, and Tabitha's hand slowly crept closer to the knife at her belt. "Hate the water that much, do ya?" he asked, and Tabitha quickly dropped her hand back to her side.

"Not… quite my strong suit," she said hesitantly, and Caleb offered out his hand.

"C'mere," he said, and after a brief moment of quiet panic, she allowed herself to be pulled aboard. The boat rocked slightly under their combined weight, and while Caleb barely seemed to notice, Tabitha found herself colliding headlong into the whaler's chest as she attempted to regain some small semblance of balance. "We'll have ta work on getting' you yer sea legs," he laughed.

"We're in the river, you lout," she growled, struggling to stand without Caleb's support, and failing miserably as she stumbled once again.

"Careful, molly." He grabbed her arm and pulled her back, guiding her to one of the benches. "Ya fall in, I'm leavin' ya to freeze."

Tabitha glared. "Comforting."

"I'd thaw ya out in the spring," he conceded with a shrug, and Tabitha rolled her eyes. "So what is it? You afraid of water? Or can't ya swim?"

"Neither," she answered stiffly. "I swim very well, and I'm not in the least bit afraid of water. Or boats, for that matter. I just never learned how to use one, is all."

Caleb grabbed one of the poles, and Tabitha immediately opened her mouth in protest. "Sit yer arse down, molly," he said. "I'm not gonna drown ya. Just gonna show ya how to maneuver one of these beauties."

"I don't care how you do it."

"You'll thank me later," he said, tugging the rope loose.

"Brewster…"

"Christ, molly, quit your whining and take a pole." Tabitha snarled under her breath, but took the pole being pressed in front of her. "There, that's better."

She turned her glare to iron-tipped rod and glanced back up at Caleb. "What is it you want me to do with this?"

"Here." He gestured for her to move closer, which she did reluctantly. "All ya have ta do is drop it into the water, til ya feel the bottom. Like this." Tabitha peered over the side of the boat as the pole slipped beneath the surface. The water wasn't that deep, she realized, and she looked back up to the whaler, silently urging him to continue. "Now, ya just… push." And he did, and Tabitha felt her grip on the side loosen as the boat glided forward. "Not hard, really."

"No, I suppose not," she agreed, slowly getting to her feet to stand beside him with her own pole. Mirroring his movements, she let the pole slide into the water, grasp tightening as it hit the bottom. "All I have to do is push?" At Caleb's nod, she gave a quick shove, and the boat lurched. She let out a muffled shriek as the pole was ripped from her hands, and her arms windmilled as she teetered dangerously over the edge.

Fortunately, Caleb managed to grab hold of the back of her coat, and with a sharp tug, she fell backwards into the bottom of the boat. It was a couple frantic moments before she realized Caleb was laughing at her, and she felt her face burn. "It isn't funny," she snapped. "You made it look easy on purpose, you—!" She trailed off as Caleb pointed upstream, and she realized what had him in hysterics.

Her pole jutted proudly from the river like a flag, stuck fast in the muddy riverbed. "Oh," she muttered, and felt a smile creep unbidden to her face. Before long, she joined in laughing, doubled over in the bottom of the boat as Caleb just continued pointing and howling. Once their laughter had died down slightly, Tabitha caught a whiff of what smelled like burning—

Her eyes snapped open before she could finish the thought, and she quickly turned to stare at the shoreline. Sure enough, huge clouds of smoke were billowing from the pot of resin, and she felt her heart leap into her throat. "Brewster, the fire!" she exclaimed, and for a moment, she thought Caleb was going to start laughing again.

"It does that," he said offhandedly. "Nothin' to worry abou—" The words died in his mouth as the first of the flames shot up from the pot. "Oh, fuck me," he swore, grabbing the pole and nearly knocking Tabitha upside the head in the process.

By the time they reached the shore, the flames seemed to be dying down slightly, and she winced apologetically. "Think we can still use any of it?" she asked, and Caleb shook his head.

"Nevermind," he said offhandedly. "I figured somethin' like this'd happen, it bein' yer first time and all." He grinned as her mouth hung open in indignation, and continued, "which is why I only gave ya a little."

"You think this is my fault?" she exclaimed as he climbed out. "Who insisted I try and push a boat across the river with a pole?"

"You're getting that pole back," he interjected playfully. "Jus' so ya know."

"Get it yerself, ya gobshite!" Tabitha shot back, swinging her legs over the side of the boat in what should have been an easy, fluid motion. However, Caleb chose that moment to give the rope a sharp tug, and the resulting jolt sent her tumbling into the muddy water with a shout. "_Drochrath air_," she swore, feeling the icy wetness seeping into her boots and the knees of her breeches coupled with the sinking realization that the hidden letter would probably be drenched as well.

"All right down there?" Caleb called.

Tabitha pressed her hand against the boat for balance as she got to her feet, wincing as the cold began to fully set in. "I'll get you back for this, Brewster," she shuddered, feet squelching wetly in her boots as she trudged further up from the riverbank, and closer to the warmth of the fire.

"You'll wanna take those off," he suggested as he moved to join her. "Don' want yer feet to freeze. Here, d'ya need me to—"

"I'm perfectly capable of undressing myself," she said, tugging the first boot off with a soft squish. A thin trickle of water dripped out as she tipped it upside down, and she tossed it closer to the fire as she wriggled her slightly-numb toes in the warmth.

The other boot was trickier. She could hardly slip the letter out unseen with Caleb's eyes fixed on her (she had no idea what was so damn entertaining, unless he was simply gloating), but with a bit of luck, she could slide it deeper into the toe. As she guided her foot out with one hand, she quickly slid her other hand in to ease the paper down and in. Once her foot popped free, Caleb seemed to lose interest and turned his attention toward the boats lining the riverbank, and Tabitha seized the opportunity to fish the letter out and stuff it into her shirt. The paper was, against all odds, remarkably dry, and Caleb turned back just as she finished readjusting the stiff fabric.

"I swear, if I lose a foot to frostbite…" she began threateningly.

"Do they hurt?"

Tabitha glanced at her toes as she stretched them again in the fire's warmth. "Stings a bit, yeah."

"Good, they're fine, then," Caleb said with such an obvious air of relief that Tabitha had to grin.

"Of course they are, you clod," she sighed. "It's the middle of the day, and all's I've got is a soggy boot." She nudged one of her muddy boots with the tip of her toe, inching it closer to the fire. Both her feet and boots would require a good scrubbing before long, but for now, she was content letting them dry by the low-burning flames.

Caleb's mouth twitched in a half-smile. "Wish I could tell ya to stay away from boats for the resta the war," he said with a shake of his head. "Next time, I migh' not be there to keep ya dry, an' the last thing we need is you draggin' a few of ours in with ya."

Tabitha's eyebrows rose, and she stared open-mouthed at the whaler with an expression of amused indignation. "I'll consider it a blessing, Brewster," she replied with a laugh. "Especially considering the fact that _you_ knocked me in the mud to begin with!"

"I didn' let ya fall in the river, at least," he added, and her eyes immediately moved to where the pole was still protruding from the water. "Are ya always that unsteady 'round boats?"

"Wouldn't know," she replied curtly. "Never went near 'em after…" she paused, catching herself mid-sentence. "Aaron didn't think it safe, with me feeling sick and all."

Saying Aaron's name aloud seemed to have a numbing effect on her body. The fire felt far away now, and a languid chill began to ease through her limbs. She felt distant, almost; disconnected, even, as she stared into the flames. And yet, something in the back of her mind was screaming at the weakness she felt. She'd already made a fool of herself in front of Caleb on the boat—the last thing she needed was to tear up in front of him at the mere mention of Aaron's name.

"How did he die?" Caleb asked, effectively snapping Tabitha out of her reverie.

"Who?" Tabitha asked, careful to keep her voice steady, looking anywhere but at the man next to her. "Aaron?"

Caleb's face had lost its last hint of playfulness, and was replaced by a mixture of curiosity and (it sickened Tabitha to see) sympathy. "I know why ya came to my tent last night, molly," he said, watching Tabitha's carefully composed face harden as she stared into the flames. "You're not the only one in the camp who's had dreams like that. I know what it's like to lose someone, and believe me, it's not somethin' ya just get over."

"I noticed that, thank you," Tabitha said stiffly.

"It helps to talk about them," he continued, and shrugged when Tabitha turned to look at him. "Can't have ya goin' to pieces on me, now can I?"

Tabitha said nothing. Caleb was clearly more intelligent than she'd initially thought, but that didn't make the situation any less uncomfortable. Father Michael notwithstanding, she had spoken to no one about Aaron's fate. Or what she assumed to be his fate, in any case. And while she had never 'gone to pieces' on anyone before, that didn't mean there hadn't been close calls.

"I don't know," Tabitha said, as Caleb made to stand after a few minutes. When he looked up at her in surprise, she continued, "I don't know how he died. Only that he did. I can feel it."

"What happened?"

"It's a long story," she said, and Caleb shrugged.

"Got nothin' else to do," he said. "Tell me."

Tabitha's eyes locked on a small piece of wood half-buried in the dirt, and felt it consume her vision as her mouth began moving of its own accord. "Everything that happened is my fault," she began. "Aaron wasn't supposed to fight. Initially, he didn't care one way or the other. If the English won, or if the rebels won, he knew it would make no difference for people like us. But I disagreed.

"I went to Connecticut with Sister Bridget very early in 1774. She had family in Hartford, and Father Michael thought it would be a good opportunity for me to… exercise my social graces, as it were. My manners were deplorable when I was growing up, and I had made something of a spectacle of myself in Baltimore. He thought a fresh start would be good for me, though I think he was secretly hoping I would find myself a respectable husband before heading down the path of spinsterdom."

Caleb had settled back to the ground, and was regarding her with a keen interest that made her mildly uncomfortable. She cleared her throat before speaking again, "It was there, a few weeks after arriving, that I met Ben." This really seemed to pique Caleb's interest, and Tabitha shifted uncomfortably. "Sister Bridget's nephew was attending school in Weathersfield—the same school in which Ben worked. We were introduced by Bridget's sister-in-law, and after a few months, I wrote to Aaron with my decision to remain in Connecticut with him.

"Ben was initially reluctant to join the Continental army, but I did my best to whisper in his ear and persuade him the way women do. Whether it was that or the letters from his college friends that finally convinced him, I'm not sure. But when he was commissioned, I was overjoyed." A small smile graced her face momentarily, and she shook her head.

"I wrote to Aaron, and to everyone else I knew with the news. I guess it became the gossip of the town. 'Aaron McKenna's sister is to marry a Continental Dragoon!' Aaron was happy for me, of course, but when he wrote me back, he barely mentioned the engagement. He was concerned by my determination to accompany Ben wherever he went. He knew me better than anyone, you see, and knew I was not a woman who would be content to wash uniforms and cook meals."

"Is that why he joined, then?" Caleb asked.

Tabitha glanced up from the fire, the light from the flames playing softly across her face. "It is," she said softly. "He said that if the rebels lost—something he had said they would do on multiple occasions—then I, as the wife of a captain, would be punished alongside my husband. I think, as time went on, he began to develop more patriotic sensibilities, but it was his concern for my wellbeing that made him join initially."

Caleb winced. "So what happened to him?"

"That, I don't know," Tabitha admitted, turning her boots with her toes to ensure even drying. "Sounds terrible, doesn't it? I know in my heart he's dead, but I've never seen his body. Never found anyone from the regiment either. He sent a letter saying they were overrun, and he doubted the British were taking prisoners. Officers, perhaps, but Aaron wasn't an officer. I'm sure they hanged him. I don't think he would have been shot. He wasn't important enough to… to waste…"

She tried to finish her sentence, but the words were stuck in her throat, and she realized with a belated wave of humiliation that her cheeks were wet. She quickly looked away from Caleb, hoping to preserve what little shred of her dignity remained intact, but the damage had been done. She expected some sarcastic remark from the whaler, or a comment on the sentimentality of women.

What she hadn't been expecting was the heavy, surprisingly warm hand clasping her shoulder, moments before a leather water flask was pressed into her hands. "Drink that," Caleb said, and Tabitha was strangely relieved not to hear any pity in his voice. "It'll help."

She did as she was told, and wasn't at all surprised to find the bottle half-filled with brandy instead of water, as she'd initially assumed. By the time she'd passed the flask back, she'd drained most of the contents in one long, desperate gulp. "Thank you," she rasped, running the back of her hand across her eyes. "I'm sorry for that."

"Don't be," Caleb said, clapping her once on the shoulder before swallowing the last of the brandy and climbing to his feet. "He's your brother, molly. I'd be worried if ya _didn't_ feel anythin'." Tabitha nodded, feeling the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth once again. "Are your boots dry yet? We still have some boats ta fix, you 'n me."

"They should be," she replied, scooting closer to inspect them.

"Well, hurry up and put em on. I'll get more resin. An' you'd best watch the fire this time." He yelled the last part over his shoulder, and Tabitha rolled her eyes.

As she leaned forward to pull one of her boots on, she felt the sharp corner of the letter pressing into her breast. She froze for a second, then, with a quick look over her shoulder, pulled it out from her shirt. The paper was dry, and had only dampened along the edge, where the was no ink to smear.

But there was no relief in this knowledge, and with a second glance back to where Caleb stood, she felt a wave of guilt accompanying the surge of affection she felt for the man. The paper trembled with her shaking hands, and before she could change her mind, she flung the paper into the fire.

There was a brief moment where it seemed the paper wouldn't burn, and that maybe she could still retrieve it. But no sooner had the thought crossed her mind, the parchment caught, and in a flash it was consumed by a miniature inferno.

"Molly!" Caleb shouted, startling Tabitha from her thoughts. "Get your lazy arse over here!" She hastily tugged on her boots, relishing the heat radiating from the leather as she hurried to join Caleb at the edge of the river. "Take this," he dropped a sack of resin into her arms, "and set it by the fire. I'll have more for ya, so hurry up."

The sacks were heavy, but Tabitha was careful not to let it show. She'd shown enough weakness to the man for one day, of which he'd been quite forgiving, but it was best to not push her luck. As the final sack landed beside the rest, she risked speaking. "Thank you, Caleb," she said, and continued in a rush before Caleb could add anything. "Pretending to be Aaron is easy enough, but it's… difficult. Hearing his name all the time, and knowing he's dead. So thank you. I owe you."

Caleb's face split into a wide grin. "_Is dócha nach bhfuil seans ar bith ann?_" he said, and Tabitha's jaw dropped in an almost comical, fish-like fashion.

"_Tá tú ainmhí!_" she shouted, but doubted the whaler had heard anything over his raucous laughter. With a long-suffering sigh, she began piling the amber-like chunks into the pot.

* * *

Irish translations:

_Chuala mé go roimh_ - I've heard that before

_Tá, beagán_ - Yes, a little

_Drochrath air_ - Damn it

_Is dócha nach bhfuil seans ar bith ann?_ - I suppose a ride is out of the question?

_Tá tú ainmhí!_ - You're an animal


End file.
